


I Found

by ravenlowe



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Background Relationships, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Minor Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull - Freeform, Minor Male Warden/Zevran Arainai, Minor Male Warden/Zevran Arainai/Dorian Pavus, Multi, OT3, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Threesome - M/M/M, functional triad, ot3 is endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenlowe/pseuds/ravenlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen was trying to put his life back together.</p><p>Dorian, was following a mystery halfway around the world.</p><p>Ian?  Ian just wanted to find his brother.</p><p>Life has a funny way of defying expectations and bringing people together.  Sometimes the things you find are the things you're not looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! So this is the beginning of the larger fic that I've been promising for well, since I finished Wanting. This fic is going to be one hell of a slow burn, but I've really been enjoying working on it, so I hope you enjoy reading it as well. Updates on Sundays!

“Excuse me, but do you know Logan Trevelyan?”

“Never heard of him.  Now, if you’ll excuse me I have--”

“Perhaps you could point me in the direction of the mages from the Ostwick Circle, then?”

The harried-looking soldier huffed then ran his hand through his blond hair as he looked down at the board in his hands then back up at Ian.  “I don’t have time for this. Most of the Circle mages made the trip earlier this morning.    The next group headed for the Temple leaves in five minutes,   you’re welcome to join them.”

Ian’s shoulders slumped, but he offered the man, with a rather distracting scar that Ian kind of wanted to taste, a quick thank you as he moved to join the group.  He’d been hoping to find Logan here, where the guard wasn’t quite so tight, and they could slip away unnoticed.  Still, he was one step closer to finding his brother.

They’d been separated for far too long.  They were twelve when the templars came for Logan, and Ian had been forbidden from writing, not that being forbidden had stopped him, but he’d never received a reply.

The moment the news about the Mage Rebellion reached Ostwick, Ian knew that it was his chance.  He boarded the ship, despite his father’s forbiddance, and hadn’t looked back since.  Unfortunately, he also underestimated the amount of time it would take to reach Haven from Amaranthine.  He arrived in Haven far later than he wanted, but as far as he was aware, the Conclave hadn’t started yet, so he still had time.  Ian wasn’t about to let his father’s disapproval or the Ferelden countryside keep him from Logan any longer.

“Excuse me, but do you know Logan Trevelyan?”  He wasn’t going to let the way the so-called pilgrims were glaring at him stop him either.

“Next group of pilgrims, move forward!”

The people milling around the base camp seemed to move forward at once.  The call of the soldier filled them with a sudden purpose and Ian got swept up into the crowd, without so much as a by your leave.  It was lucky that he was planning on accompanying them in the first place, as the momentum of the bodies closing in around him pushed him forward.  He found his feet before he managed to get trampled, then turned his eyes to the path before him.  It looked like quite the hike, but every step closer to finding his brother was more than worth it.

“Excuse me, but do you know Logan Trevelyan?” he asked the nearest person without expecting an answer.

“Have some respect; this is a holy pilgrimage!”  

Ian startled, then fought the urge to roll his eyes as the admonishment set in.  This little trip didn’t feel like a holy anything.  They were being herded along the rocky path rather like a group of cattle, but saying so to the Sister wouldn’t win him any favors, so he tried a more respectful approach.  “Forgive me, Sister, it’s just that I’ve been separated from Logan--he’s my twin brother, you see-- for so long, and I was hoping to find him here.”

“Your brother? He’s a mage then?” A man walking next to the Sister joined the conversation.  Ian gave the man a once over, and paled when his gaze got caught on the Sword of Mercy etched into the  _ templar’s _ chestplate.  This, was what he’d been hoping to avoid by finding Logan in the base camp

He shifted his weight, but couldn’t help but ask it; “Ah, yes, ser.  He was taken to the Circle at Ostwick.  Do you know him?”

“Not at all, but you should be glad he was taken.  It was for your protection.”

Ian didn't want to argue.  He didn’t want to draw more attention to himself, but the templar was spouting the same bullshit Ian heard from his father for the past two decades.  He could feel his cheeks heating in response.  There was no world in which he was safer without Logan at his side.  “I think I know what my own brother is capable of, ser.  In fact--”

“Oh, do you?  When is the last time you  _ spoke _ with him?  Mages are fickle things.  Should just use the Rite and--”

“Quiet!  Both of you!” the sister hissed.  Ian took a quick step back from the templar.  He hadn’t even realized that they’d been crowding in on each other, as well as drawing the attention of everyone around them.  Ian flushed, embarrassed.   _ Maker _ , what had he been thinking?  The templar would have flattened him!  “We must put our personal feelings aside and approach this Conclave with an open mind; such is the will of the Divine.  There is a chance to do real good here, for not only the Templars or the mages, but all the people of Thedas!”

Ian lowered his head, trying to appear contrite.  He wasn’t too sure about all of doing the whole world good, but he was determined to find Logan.  The quicker Ian found him and got them both out of this place, the better.

The templar wasn’t trying to hide his contempt at all.  “Nothing good will come of this farce, mark my words.”

“That,” the sister insisted as she pushed between them to walk on ahead.  “Is for the Maker to decide.”

Ian watched her go, then turned to the templar and hissed, “I will find my brother,” once she was out of sight.

The templar glared, but the fight seemed to be gone from him.  He looked away from Ian and towards the Temple instead.  “Then Maker protect you, and I pray the  _ person _ you find is worthy of your devotion.”

Ian swallowed around the lump in his throat and watched the templar stride away in the Sister’s wake.

Logan could be a blood mage, or even an abomination and Ian would still love him.  He was Ian’s other half; how could he not?  Besides, it wouldn’t come to that.  Ian knew Logan, no matter how much time had passed.  He was the better of both of them, and Ian would lay money that he was the finest mage in the Circle until the rebellion happened.

Alright, that was romanticized, even to Ian’s ears.  Logan was a troublemaker of the worst sort, but it had always been the best kind of trouble.

The crowd was moving on without him, so Ian jogged forward to catch up.  It was tempting to ask about Logan, but judging from the way people were moving away from him, he’d already drawn enough attention to himself for one afternoon.  He didn’t want to be escorted back to Haven in chains, after all.

 

_______

 

Once the latest in the very long line of annoying nobles turned away from Cullen, he gave the signal to the guards at the gates to round up the next group and begin the trek up to the temple.  It was perhaps a bit early, but Cullen’s head was pounding, and he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.  He rubbed his hand over his forehead then back through his hair as he watched the group leave.

There were better uses of his skills than this; it was barely better than herding cattle, but Cullen supposed he shouldn’t complain.  After all,  _ he didn’t  _ have to lead them any further than the base camp.  No, he just had to deal with them while they were here, and each group of travellers seemed pushier than the last.  People skills would never be Cullen’s strongest point, but at least he was managing to keep the camp in order..

At the moment, however, it appeared to be rather empty.  The pilgrims were gone, and only Cullen’s soldiers were left. Over the past month, he’d gotten used to the camp having a constant flow of people coming and going, but now, it seemed that most who were making the trip to the temple had already done so.  That was a relief.

“Commander, we have a new report from the men stationed at the temple.”

Cullen was startled from his musings by his well meaning assistant.  He covered his surprise with a pained smile as he took the scroll the man was holding out for him.  He scanned the document, and was pleased with what he found.  “Ah, it appears they’ve decided to begin negotiations within the hour.  Go ahead and keep up the guard rotation for now.  I doubt we’ll see much more traffic, but there may be stragglers.”

“Yes, ser.”  The soldier gave him a salute, then turned to see to the rotation with a bit of bounce to his step.  It appeared that Cullen wasn’t the only one relieved to have the end in sight. Life post-Kirkwall wasn’t easy, or quiet, but the first time in a long time, he felt like he was where he was supposed to be-- the older soldiers were even beginning to call him Commander without sarcastic tones.

“ _ Commander. _ ”  The same couldn’t be said of certain members of the clergy.  

Cullen resisted the urge to hunch his shoulders as he faced the newest detriment to his fragile peace of mind.  “Chancellor Roderick.  I’m surprised to see you’re still here.  We’ve just received word that the Divine hopes to begin the talks soon.”

“Good.  The sooner this farce comes to its conclusion, the better for everyone involved.  For now, I believe my presence is best served here.”  Roderick leveled a glare on Cullen that would have been telling enough, if Cullen didn’t already know what the man thought of him.  There weren’t many among the small group of soldiers that knew the ins and outs of Cullen’s background, but from day one it was clear that Chancellor Roderick knew every gritty detail, and thought less of him for it.

  
It wasn’t as if Cullen was special in that regard, however.  The man seemed to dislike everyone he met, and wasn’t quiet about it.  His heart, tended to be in the right place, even if he did get bogged down in insignificant details and try to drag everyone else down with him, so Cullen tried to treat him with at least as much respect as a cleric of his rank was due.

Most of the time, dealing with him didn’t take much energy, Cullen dealt with worse in the past, but today it was trying the end of his patience.  

“If that’s what you feel is best, Chancellor.  I’m sure the men will be glad for your presence for a while longer.”  Cullen kept his face as bland as possible and willed Roderick to believe his lie.  They stared at each other for a long moment before the Chancellor huffed and turned away to torment someone else.

Cullen’s shoulders slumped for just a moment as he sent a silent prayer to the Maker.  His earlier optimism was fading, and now he could only hope that the conclave went well so this nightmare would soon be over.  He just wasn’t made for bureaucracy.  

 

_____

 

Kirkwall was a shithole.

There was no delicate way of putting it, not that Dorian would bother.  It looked nice enough from the coast, but once you got inside, the smell alone was worth turning around and leaving again.  The architecture did make him a bit nostalgic for home though. The state of the city was unfortunate, but going somewhere else was not an option.  Dorian needed a ship to Ferelden, and this was the only place he could afford passage.   

Dorian gagged as he stepped around  _ something _ as he made his way through Lowtown towards the docks.   _ Sweet merciful maker _ , how did people live like this?  He'd seen, and lived, in filth before, but this was taking things to a whole new level.  What even was that?

All around him, the buildings still bore the scars of the fighting that happened here.  Perhaps, if he had time, he would try to find his way to Hightown.  Even in the reaches of Tevinter, they heard of the explosion that jumpstarted the Southern mage rebellion.  Dorian thought he might enjoy standing in the steps of history a bit more than this, but he hadn't thought that it would smell quite so bad.

Maker help him, the docks were even worse.

Dorian held his breath as he made his way along the docks while looking for a ship that was fit to carry passengers. The pickings here were slim as well, but he supposed that beggars couldn't be choosers, and if he wanted to have enough gold to last him on whatever this madcap journey that Alexius and Felix were leading him on, then Dorian was a beggar.  It was an uncomfortable feeling.

Towards the end of the dock there was a vessel that looked promising; small, but promising.  

Dorian squared his shoulders and strode forward.  He was more than aware that everything was against him, from his fine, Northern looks, to his staff.  It was obvious that he was a mage, and the looks that little fact had been getting him were not the adoring gazes he deserved. Really, the citizens of Lowtown should feel blessed that he graced their hovels.   _ Southerners _ .

"Excuse me, sir, but could you point me in the direction of this..sturdy looking vessel.  She is sturdy, isn't she?"

The grizzled sailor gave Dorian an unimpressed look before he caught sight of the staff, and a flash of fear entered his eyes.  "We don't take on apostates.  You could try the Templars, I'm sure they'd be glad to take care of you, messere."

Not expected, but Dorian wasn't giving up so easy.  "I suppose I could, but then my coin would go to waste.  All I wish is for safe passage to Ferelden.  I'll keep to myself, out of the way."  He flashed his coinpurse at the man and raised a brow.

To his credit, the sailor looked like he was going to stand firm for all of two minutes, before giving in.  "You'll pay double the normal rate, and there will be no magic on board my ship."

Dorian bit his tongue to keep from quipping that the  _ fine _ vessel before him was hardly a ship at all.  Take that Alexius; sometimes Dorian  _ did _ know when to keep his mouth shut.  "Agreed.  I'll be quiet as a mouse.  Quarter up front, and the rest once we've arrived safely?"

"All up front."

"No, that won't do.  I might be desperate but I wasn't born yesterday.  Quarter up front, the rest once I'm on Ferelden soil or nothing at all."  The ultimatum was risky, but Dorian could see it working in his favor.  Once the greed set in, it was hard to let the coin go.  It was wonderful how basic human nature never changed.

"Fine.  Quarter now.  Get your things and get aboard.  We're leaving with the tide."

"Which is when?"

"Twenty minutes, give or take."

Pity, he wasn't going to get to tour the more historical areas of the city.  Perhaps that was for the best.  Dorian's nose was certainly going to thank him for leaving as soon as possible.  "This is me then.  Which way to my quarters?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always you can find me @ mostlyharmlessgaming on tumblr.
> 
> Next Chapter: The world explodes in a wash of green.


	2. Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Ian thinks he's come to his journey's end, the world explodes in a flash of green.

Ian’s breath came out in short gasps as they approached the Temple, and it wasn’t because the sight of the holy temple took his breath away.  He was unsure if it was the altitude, or if he was just so out of shape that catching his breath was an issue.  He chose to believe that it was a mixture of both, then place the entire blame on his own shortcomings.

That didn’t stop him from having to stop, bent over with his hands braced on his knees, as he tried to catch his breath.

When he looked up once more, Ian found himself alone on the edge of stirring chaos.  The crowd in the base camp was miniscule compared to the group of people milling around outside the Temple.  There had to be hundreds of them, if not thousands of people pushing their way here and there while yelling to be heard over everyone else.  From where he stood, Ian was able to observe the chaos without getting swept up in it, but the longer Ian watched, the more apparent it became that there was a pattern in the madness.

There were battle lines being drawn.  Yelling aside, it was peaceful enough for the moment, but Ian’s trouble breathing might as well have been from the tension that was clogging what should be crisp, mountain air, rather than from his lacking physique.  There was a clear line between those representing the Chantry and the mages.  From the looks each of the sides were giving each other, he rather suspected a fight would break out at any moment, peace talks and the Divine be damned.

Speaking of the Divine, she was nowhere in sight.  There looked to be guards posted at the doors of the temple, but they looked to be more interested in keeping out of the way then stopping the inevitable. Ian was tempted to follow their example, but he was here for a reason. He sucked in a deep breath then made his way towards a group of mages.  This was it.  If he couldn’t find Logan here, then there was no hope of finding him at all.  

Ian stopped at the edge of the group and cleared his throat before addressing the closest mages. “Excuse me, do you know Logan Trevelyan from the Ostwick Circle?”

Their conversation paused as they turned to glare at him for interrupting.  

Ian shifted his weight between his feet, but didn’t back down.  “Please, I’m his brother.”

The younger of the two mages continued to glare, but the older seemed to find something in him worth pitying.  “I don’t know your brother, but I overheard a group claiming they were from Ostwick not an hour ago.”

Ian could hardly contain his excitement.  It was the first affirmative news he’d gotten since starting out.  “Please, can you tell me where they went?  I must find him.”

“They were informing the guard of their purpose here, so they must be inside by now; beyond that, I can’t help you.”

Ian spun on his heel and was two paces away before he realized his error.  “Thank you!” he called out, as he turned back towards the mage while continuing to walk backwards. “You’ve been very helpfl--oof.  Sorry! I’m sorry.”

He turned back around chagrined, helped right the person he’d bumped into, then continued on his way.

Getting inside the temple was easier said than done.  The crowd thickened the closer he got to the doors, and it became more difficult to push his way through the bodies.  Ian stepped on more than a few toes and offered just as many half-hearted apologies as he fought his way to the guard station.  The crowd created a bottleneck there, as the guards checked papers before letting people inside.Ian slipped his hand into his side-bag, where the papers he forged resided.  While his family tended to leave him out of official matters, he’d still picked up a few tricks along the way, and came prepared.  With any luck, the papers and the right attitude would be enough to get him inside.

It was time to play the game.

He slipped into the line and ran his hand through his hair to try and clean himself up a bit.   _Maker_ , he couldn't even remember the last time he bathed. His jaw was rough with a week’s growth at least. Ian did the best he could without a mirror then straightened his gambeson.  It was a poor job of it, but he would have to make do.  By the time he finished making himself look respectable, it was his turn to face the guard.

“Name?”

Ian adopted a dry tone and looked down at the guard as he produced the papers with a flourish.  “Ian Trevelyan, youngest son of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick.  I’m here to represent my family’s interests at the Conclave.”  

The guard barely looked at him as he took the papers, gave them a look over, and compared them with the board in his hands.  “Lord Trevelyan, it seems that we were not informed of your impending arrival.”

Ian scoffed and glared.  “Well, obviously, I am here, aren’t I?  I didn’t just step out of the Fade.  I’ve been traveling; for weeks.  Perhaps the letters got lost in the shuffle?  I saw the conditions in that so-called base camp you have set up, and the housing situation in Haven?  That was an absolute disaster.  My family is very interested in the proceedings here, and my father wanted to make it very clear that the Divine has Ostwick’s full support.”

The guard had the look of a man who had been dealing with uppity nobles all day and had just encountered another one.  On a normal afternoon, Ian would be offering to buy the man a drink, but today, that furrowed brow was exactly what he was after.  The guard thrust the paperwork back at him.  “I’m so _sorry_ for the inconvenience,” the guard huffed.  “Your paperwork is in order, Lord Trevelyan, please move along.”

“Well, it’s about time!” Ian huffed, and snatched the paperwork.  He shoved them in the direction of his bag as he walked through the open doors and into the antechamber.

The antechamber was _breathtaking_.  There’s a feel to the room that’s beyond the crowd gathered inside.  It’s ancient.  It’s heavy.

Ian’s eyes strayed upwards towards the ceiling as he moved further into the room.  No Chantry he’d ever been in could even begin to compare.  He wandered around through the crowd and tried to commit the feeling to memory.

Ian was so caught up with the tapestries and statues that he didn’t even notice that he was wandering out of the main antechamber.

It was so quiet.  Peaceful.

“Why are you doing this! Help!”

Ian jumped as a voice broke through the serenity that surrounded him.  “Hello?  Is someone there?”

“Please, help me!”

The yelling was muffled in the distance and Ian broke out into a run.  “I’m coming!  Where are you?”

“Please!”

There was a room at the end of the hallway.  Ian threw himself at the door and slammed against it, only to be knocked back.  He threw himself at it again, then again, then knocked against it with his fist.

“Please help!”

“Damnit,” Ian cursed and backed up to get another running start.  He threw his body against the wood for all he was worth, and was just as surprised as anyone inside when the door gave way and he stumbled inside.  “What’s going on…”

The question got caught in his throat and his eyes widened as he took in the scene.  Those were...and the Divine was..and what even…

Ian’s eyes were instinctively drawn towards movement.  There was an orb rolling towards him on the floor, and without even thinking he reached down to scoop it up.

“..in here?”

The world exploded in a flash of green.

 

_______

 

It began with an explosion.

It came without warning.  One moment the camp was serene, and in the next a mighty blast rocked the very land beneath his feet.  Cullen stumbled, and almost fell.  He would have, if it were not for the heavy table before him.  The air in the base camp grew thick with dust and debris, making it hard to breathe, and almost impossible to see.  Cullen coughed into his hand as he moved around the table and tried to blink the ash from his eyes.

He stumbled across one of his own men on the ground and knelt to help the man up.  All around the camp, the other soldiers were beginning to recover from the blastwave.  The air was clearing, but was still too thick to see more than a few feet ahead.  For a moment, the world faded around Cullen, and he when he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the base camp, but in the streets of Kirkwall.  He blinked the memory away, and bit down on his inner cheek.  Anything to keep himself rooted in the present.

But the similarities could not be denied.  

Cullen clamped down on the panic burning in his own belly, and sought to get things under control before it could take hold in his men.

“Soldiers, hear me!” he called out into the haze.  Cullen’s voice sounded fuzzy past the ringing in his ears.  He coughed again, in a vain attempt to clear his throat, before continuing.  “Keep low to the ground, and whatever else, remain calm.  We need to secure this area--”

“Commander look!” the soldier at his elbow yelled and Cullen turned to follow his pointed finger.

The sick feeling in Cullen’s gut returned tenfold.  The fog cleared just enough that he could make out the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the distance--or what remained of it.  The ruined temple was bathed in an eerie green light that drew Cullen’s gaze upwards until, “Andraste, deliver us.” There’s a tear in the sky; an actual hole bathed in green light, centered over the ruins.  Cullen licked at the dust on his lips and stared.  All around him, others were doing the same-- pale faced in the clearing smoke, speechless, and trembling.

A light pulsed, and another explosion rocked the camp.   _Something_ rocketed from the breach, and split off into several pieces as it plummeted.

“Brace for impact!” Cullen yelled as he grabbed the soldier with one arm and the table with the other and ducked his head down.  The new impact rocked the camp and before they could even hope to recover, it happened again.

He had to get the men moving or they were all going to die here.  He had to do something!  Anything!

Cullen steadied himself then began barking orders.  “Secure the camp!  Prepare to escort the civilians and the wounded back to Haven!  We must be ready to retreat as soon as possible.  Get to it men!”

“But sir, the conclave,” one of the men stammered.  He was still staring wide-eyed at the tear in the sky, so Cullen stalked forward and took him by the chin.

“One thing at a time, soldier.  We’re of no use to anyone if we can’t get ourselves sorted, so, see to the injured, and for Andraste’s sake, breathe.”

The gruff order seemed to snap the man out of it.  He jumped to action and turned to help right one of his fallen comrades.  That was one down, at the least.  Another impact shook the ground, but Cullen was, Maker save him, getting used to it, and it barely slowed him down at all as he moved on to the next terrified soldier.

Before he could reach the boy, a new set of soldiers marched into the camp, looking just as shocked as Cullen’s own men, with a thunderous Cassandra at the lead.

Cullen didn’t even have time to be relieved at the backup before she stalked past him with purpose.  “I’m glad to see you have things in hand here, Commander, but we must locate the Divine.”

“I understand, but I’m not sure that it’s even possible that anyone sur-- Steady men!”  Cullen and Cassandra locked arms as another impact landed right outside their gates.  Cullen’s ears rang with the force of the blastwave, and when his hearing returned, it was to the sound of panicked yelling.  His soldiers darted away from the gates and stumbled over each other in their haste to get away.  On the other side of the gate _something_ was uncurling until it stood higher than the gates themselves.  Long gnarled fingers wrapped around the wood of the door, and the creature almost seemed to be pulling itself forward through the gap.

“What _is that?_ ” Cassandra’s voice was barely audible over the thundering of Cullen’s heart.

The base camp faded again, but this time, it wasn’t the streets of Kirkwall that closed in around Cullen.  It was the Harrowing Chamber in Kinloch Hold. The things that happened there featured heavily in Cullen’s nightmares.  The things he’d witnessed while trapped in that room continued to haunt him despite his age or experience, but worse were the things he’d naught but glimpsed out of the corner of his eyes once the Veil grew thin.

Cullen _knew_ what this creature was, and sweet Maker, how he wished he didn’t.  “Demon,” he hissed.  “It’s a demon.”

“An abomination?  Here?” Cassandra hissed as she drew her sword.  “It’s no matter.  To arms!  It is imperative we hold this position!  We need to close the gates!”

Cullen shook his head, but there was no time to explain.  A demon was coming through their gates, and he had the feeling that there were more behind it.  He followed Cassandra’s lead and armed himself as those that could work past the horror were spurred into action.  Cassandra, herself, appeared fearless as she pressed forward, and Cullen could only help that he appeared half as collected as she.  The demon bore down on them with a sweep of its long arm, but  Cullen stepped back out of it’s reach then arced forward with his sword and managed to slice into the flesh.

So they could be hurt.  That was a blessing.

He landed a hit, but in the process left his side open. Cassandra was there to make up for his lack.  She pressed forward from his right and took advantage of the distraction that Cullen’s blow caused to land another vicious strike across the demon’s middle.  While Cullen’s slice hadn’t fazed it in the slightest, Cassandra’s made it stumble back.  “Now!  Get those gates closed.”

The soldiers found their footing and rushed the gates.  The heavy wooden doors slammed closed as another group slid the bar into place.  They held their breaths, but by some miracle, the door seemed to hold against the demon’s pounding.  No one seemed to be in a hurry to sheathe their weapons as they began to realize that, for the moment at least, the danger had passed.

“Shit,” Cassandra swore.  “That was no abomination.”

“No,” Cullen agreed.  “A demon in the flesh.”  He watched the gates.  He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from them, that is, until an unexpected voice startled him.

“And the bad news is that they’re _everywhere.”_ Leliana strode forward as if she’d been in the camp the entire time.  “I’ve word from my scouts that they’re appearing along with these _rifts_ all over the region.”

“And have you heard from anyone in the temple?”  Cassandra pressed.  Cullen knew what she was really asking, as did Leliana.  Survivors of any kind would be a blessing, but the person who they were worried about the most, was the Divine.

Leliana shook her head.  “None of my scouts that were there have reported in.  I’ve sent others, but the path to the Temple is littered with rifts.”

“And with demons,” Cullen added.  
  
“And with demons, yes.”

Cassandra looked grim as she turned back to the gate.  “Then we must press forward.  We cannot leave the fate of the Divine up to assumption, and the longer we wait the more demons will be in our path.”  She was determined to go, and Maker help him, Cullen would follow.  He was already turning to rally the men, but Leliana was shaking her head.

“We shouldn’t risk more lives.  Give my scouts more time to report.”

They both turned to Cullen, as if they were expecting him to take a side, and that was not a position he wanted to be in.  He opened his mouth to stall, when a raven flew into camp and landed on Leliana’s shoulder.  A tense silence fell over the camp as Leliana detached the message from the bird’s leg.  Her brow furrowed and her expression became pinched as she read.

“Well?” Cassandra prompted when Leliana wasn’t forthcoming.

The spymaster seemed hesitant.  “They’ve found a survivor, but,” she paused to read the note again.  “Scout Harding writes that he fell from one of the demon rifts; a large one, presumably the one that started this all.”

Cullen couldn’t hide his surprise.  “A man fell from the Fade?  Is she sure that he’s even human?”

“That’s all her report says.  They’re continuing to search the ruins while they wait for orders.”  Leliana’s eyes were glassy as she crumpled the note.  She was the closest of the three of them to the Divine, and it seemed that the last shred of hope she’d been holding on to was gone.  “We need to decide what to do next.”

“Hold what we can for now.  Have your scouts take the man to Haven,” Cassandra ground out.  “As of right now, he’s our only hope of finding out what happened--and our only suspect.”  


_________

 

“Kaffas!” Dorian cursed as the boat rocked with enough force to send him from his pitiful hammock and sent him sprawling against the hull.  "I picked the shortest distance over sea for a reason.  Were calm waters too much to ask for?” he grumbled to himself as he pushed up to his knees.  Dorian didn’t usually mind bruises, but this was not his preferred method of getting them.

The ship rolled again without showing signs of stopping.  Dorian crushed down the little jump of fear in his belly, and pulled himself up to his feet.  With one hand braced against the hull and the other wrapped around his staff, he was able to make his way forward at a crawling pace until he emerged into the..sunlight?  From below it felt as if they were caught in the throes of a mighty storm, but the sky above was as clear and blue as he’d ever seen it.

Dorian’s stomach clenched again as the boat rocked once more.  All the magic in the world at his fingertips, and he didn’t know a cure for seasickness.  “What’s going on?” he asked anyone who might be listening.  The sailors seemed to be clinging to the rigging for dear life, as they yelled for all they were worth about the sudden change in conditions.

“Andraste’s satin knickers!  Stop messing around, and one of you get that line!  You, mage!  Get yourself below deck.  I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not natural, and so help me if you had anything to do with that.”

“No, it isn’t,” Dorian echoed as he held on for dear life, then continued on louder, “And I’ve been below deck this entire time doing my best not to sully your _fine_ vessel with the contents of my stomach, however meager they are.  Whatever this is, it isn’t my doing.”

The captain didn’t look as if he believed him, and Dorian began to worry that he was about to be thrown overboard, after all.

He wasn’t the seafaring sort, but he also didn’t believe such sudden changes in conditions, without any actual changes in the heavenly conditions was natural.  He couldn’t help but wonder if this had something to do with the little quest he was on.  Alexius’ vague attempts to recruit him into _something,_ Felix’s worried letters-- was this what it all came down to?  Pierce the heavens, boil the seas, and to what end?  Had Dorian come so far, only to arrive too late to stop the events already in motion?  

His hand drifted down to where he had the last of Felix’s letters tucked into his belt.

No, Dorian couldn’t allow himself to think that way.  He didn’t know what he would find when he caught up with Alexius, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to give up hope either.  Whatever the old man had gotten himself into, Dorian was confident that he could get him out of it.  He owed Alexius that much.

“How long until we make landfall?” He yelled to the captain.  

It took the man a moment to realize he was being addressed.  “In this?  Maker willing we make it at all!  Now get your arse below decks before I throw you overboard myself!  You say you had nothing to do with this, but I’ve made this trip hundreds of times, and have never seen the like until I brought you on board, Vint-scum.”

Dorian huffed, and turned to go back below, for all that got him.  The man would get what was coming to him.  Perhaps Dorian would even leave him a little _present_ for later, for now though, he didn’t fancy swimming.  

The rocking was beginning to slow to manageable levels, but still, he couldn’t shake the chill running down his spine.  Something big was happening, and he had the feeling he was walking right into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest thing about writing this fic so far, is timing how far Dorian travels with everything else that's going on. -huffs-
> 
> Thank you again for reading! I treasure every comment and kudo. <3 As always you can find me @mostlyharmlessgaming on tumblr.
> 
> Next chapter: Everyone's in over their heads or: Cullen is still in shock, Ian is scared and a little turned on, and Dorian gets his first taste of life in Ferelden.


	3. Convienence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian has the worst hangover of his life, and he wasn't even drunk, Cullen is suspicious about a new arrival, and Dorian gets the warmest welcome to Ferelden anyone could hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first time I have to put some warnings at the beginning of the chapter. Woo. 
> 
> First off, this chapter includes some dialogue directly from the game. I'm going to try and avoid that in the future, but for this chapter I felt like I needed it.
> 
> This chapter features M!Warden(Cousland)/Zevran, and M!Warden(Cousland)/Zevran/Dorian. It's not explicit, but more on that at the end of the chapter. If this isn't your cup of tea, feel free to skip through the first Dorian section of the chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Cassandra stayed with the troops overnight so Cullen could rest, though he would have preferred it otherwise.  He fought sleep for as long as he could, and only gave into his body’s demands when keeping his eyes open became too much to bear.

He woke again with the dawn-- his body aching and troubled with a thirst he knew he couldn’t clench-- after a night full of fevered dreams.  Yesterday’s tragedy awakened memories of past horrors and made for a poor few hours sleep.

It took him longer than usual to do anything other than stare blankly at the roof of his tent.  Cassandra was waiting for him to relieve her, but Cullen’s mind was on the small box that was buried under the rest of his meager belongings at the foot of his pallet.  Standing guard and running the base camp had been one thing, but fighting demons was another.  He should _take it._

Cullen bit the inside of his lip until it bled.

He made his decision, and didn’t have time for dallying.  It took another deep breath before Cullen could force his body into action.  He took it one step at a time.  Sometimes you just had to break down the problem into pieces until they were small enough to chew, even if the problem was getting out of bed.  Cullen pushed himself up, then turned to sit on the edge of his cot.

There.  He was up and moving.  The first steps were complete, surely it wouldn’t be hard to do the rest?  His body remained sluggish as he dressed and the pounding in his head threatened to send him digging for the box, oaths be damned.  Instead, he forced himself to turn his back to it and stepped out of his tent into the crisp mountain air.  The chill always took the edge off.

Haven, by some stroke of luck, or divine protection, was free of demons.  There were two of the rifts between it, and the base camp, but, as of the night before, the soldiers were able to hold the pathway.  Once Cullen found Cassandra, he would find out if that was still true.

Cassandra _was_ waiting, but she wasn’t alone; an elven mage was with her, and they both turned as Cullen approached.

“Commander, this is Solas.  He claims to have some knowledge of the Fade, and believes he can help.”  Cassandra looked as exhausted as Cullen felt, even after his rest.  He shouldn’t have let her send him back to the camp, though, considering the circumstances, he had to wonder if she would have found any more rest than he did.  

The mage, Solas, had a strange way about him.  They way he was dressed made it clear he was an apostate, though he _wasn’t_ going out of his way to hide that fact. He looked down his nose at Cullen without seeming to even be looking at him at all.

That was fine.  Cullen had suffered steelier gazes from far worse.  If he was here to help, then Cullen could deal with being looked down upon.  There weren’t many mages left in Haven.  Most of those that survived the explosion, soon fled rather than be blamed for the tragedy.  After Kirkwall, Cullen had known to expect the exodus, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he blamed them.  

He couldn’t help be a bit suspicious at Solas’ timing, however.  In his experience those that turned up at the exact time you needed them tended to be one of two things; a hero, or involved.  Time would tell which of the two this Solas was.   

“Brave of you,” he muttered before he could catch himself.  Suspicious, though he was, it wouldn’t do to turn away potential allies with sarcasm.  “I’m sorry,” Cullen hastily corrected.  “We can use any help that we can get.”

“No offense taken, Commander, was it?  You are right to be suspicious.  It is convenient that I should arrive just when you have need of my expertease.  I was already in route to the conclave when I felt the explosion happen, then there was nothing left for me to do but make my way here.”  Solas gave Cullen a rueful smile before continuing.  “I would like to help.  If nothing else, I can aide your soldiers a in containing the demons, but I believe that I can do more.”

“Solas thinks that _thing_ in our prisoner's hand is the key.  If it can be stabilized, we can close the rifts, or at least keep the demons from spreading.  Can we afford to turn him away?”

Taking help from any quarter was a precedent that Cullen wasn’t sure he wanted to set, but this Solas had somehow gained Cassandra’s trust, and that wasn't easy to do.  Cullen might not be able to trust the apostate just yet, but he did trust Cassandra’s judgement better than his own.  

“I suppose not, “ Cullen relented.  “Pardon my suspicion, I’ve had..experiences in the past.”

“As have we all,” Solas agreed, appearing as impassive as he had from the start.  “If it should bring you comfort, Cassandra has made it quite clear what is to become of me, should I fail to live up to expectations.”

Cullen supposed the matter closed then.  “I’m getting ready to head back to the forward camp.  I’ll be sure the men are aware to let you through, should you decide to join us.”

After a moment's hesitation, he offered the apostate his hand, and the gesture was returned.  Solas’ grip was firm, and he gave Cullen’s hand a single shake before releasing it.  This wasn’t the first time Cullen would have to put aside his own fears and suspicions for the betterment of those around him, and it wouldn't be the last.  He only hoped this didn’t end up being another one of the regrets that haunted his dreams.

 

__________

 

“As agreed, here is the rest of my payment.”  Dorian handed over the gold dragons without fanfare and watched with mild disgust as the captain licked them.  “Well, I don't know what that accomplished, but my coin is real,” he huffed.  The man just got paid double for carting Dorian across the straight.  He should be happy.

Instead, the man growled and spit in Dorian’s direction.  That was his cue to leave.  He stepped over the wet splotch on the ground and made his way down the docks.  Dorian was never traveling by sea again.  Ever.

Highever was a busy port, and in comparison to Kirkwall, it was clean, if not a bit quaint.  This area of Ferelden hadn’t seen much action during the Blight, though there were rumors of a massacre happening behind the castle walls.  If the rumors were true, Dorian saw no sign of it as he navigated the crowds.  It was a breath of fresh air after spending the night below decks.

He followed the trail of elves and fishermen from the docks into the market district.  Market districts ment traveling merchants, and if Dorian was lucky, perhaps there was one headed to Redcliffe next.  But first, a drink.

It was only mid-afternoon, but like the docks outside, the dining area of the tavern was crowded.  Dorian squeezed into a spot at the bar between a tanned elf and a cloaked figure then ordered a tankard of ale.

What he got was _not_ ale.  What he got was watered down piss.

“Adrian, _mi amore_.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the truth, it must be told.  A handsome young man has come between us.  I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”  The elf next to Dorian leaned forward on the bar to address the figure on Dorian’s other side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were--” Dorian stiffened and made to move, but a solid hand on his back kept him from standing.

The cloaked man gave him a quick pat before withdrawing the hand.  When he turned to address the elf, Dorian caught a glimpse of red hair that framed a handsome face.  “Zevran, dearest.  Perhaps you’re going blind in your old age, but he hasn’t _come_ between us.  Not _yet,_ anyway.”

Now, Dorian was neither slow witted or any stranger to innuendo.  He flirted as naturally as he breathed, but that was a bit much, even for him.

The elf, Zevran, he assumed, gasped and pouted, his face full of mock hurt long enough for him to cry, “You wound me, my heart,” before the expression turned into a delighted grin.  “Though, it is good to see we are on the same page, as always.  Hello, handsome stranger.  I am Zevran Arainai, and the fine specimen to your right, is my sun and my stars, Adrian Stone.”

“Charmed,” Dorian drawled as he raised his tankard.  “You’re very sweet, and very confident, if you think I’ll be coming between you at all.”

If anything, Zevran only looked more pleased with himself, and Dorian got the feeling the still-cloaked Adrian was grinning at him as well.  His feelings were confirmed when the man let out a soft laugh.  “A challenge then!  You picked well, Zevran.  If you are so averse, then tell us no, and that’s that.  We’ll leave you be, and even buy you a drink for your trouble.”

“But should you feel otherwise,” Zevran added as he leaned in close to whisper into Dorian’s ear.  “I am known to be quite persuasive, and my Adrian, he is skilled.”

Dorian grimaced as he took another swallow of his pisswater and thought the situation over.  It all seemed rather convenient.  He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the patrons, if only because he was carrying a staff.  His own situation aside, Adrian made no move to remove his cloak during their conversation, and Zevran was decked out in black leathers like a very lithe, but well toned harbinger of death.  They didn’t look to be the most trustworthy people in the room, but Dorian couldn’t sense any dishonesty from them either.

Neither man had even given his staff a second glance.  

“And if I decide I do want to be between you?” he asked for curiosity’s sake, of course, and not because his libido was sitting up and paying attention

“Then we go upstairs and get to know each other better.  Maybe, you’ll even tell us your name,” Adrian explained in a tone so warm that Dorian didn’t need to see him to know the man was smiling.

“And perhaps, partake in a bottle of something more agreeable to you than the swill in your cup,” Zevran added.

They drove a hard bargain.  It felt like it had been weeks since Dorian had last enjoyed the comfort of a warm bed, with our without someone else in it.  Zevran was hard to ignore, and Adrian, well, Dorian always did have trouble resisting a bit of mystery.  His curiosity was what led him this far south to begin with.  “I’ll hold you to the drink, and think on giving my name.”

The couple took his statement for the agreement it was, and pushed away from the bar.  Dorian took one last swig, there was no point in letting the swill go to waste, then followed.  Even though they bracketed him on either side as they made their way up the stairs, Dorian didn't feel caged in.  He supposed, it was one last effort to let him know it was alright to change his mind.

Sweet, but unneeded.

Their room was nothing special.  It was sparsely decorated, but featured a large bed.  It seemed that Dorian’s companions had a plan long before he came on the scene.  Still, the moment the door closed behind him, Dorian’s staff was in hand.  He backed against the door and addressed the couple.  “You’ve both been very kind, but I wasn’t born yesterday.  People don’t _just_ pick up random mages in bars.  Particularly not ones from Tevinter.”

They stared at him for a moment, before Zevran began to laugh.  He turned away from Dorian to retrieve a bottle from under the bed and took it to the small table in the corner of the room.  Adrian was more cautious.  He put his hands up to show Dorian they were empty before he reached up to pull the cloak down from around his face.  “Easy, friend.  I’ll admit, we are a bit curious about your presence here, but this doesn’t have to be anything other than what we promised down at the bar.”

Adrian was just as attractive as Dorian glimpsed downstairs.  He and Zevran made the striking pair as they watched Dorian with amused, but wary eyes.  At least they had a little bit of sense, then.

When Dorian didn’t start casting, Adrian removed the rest of the cloak.  Dorian expected templar armor and entrapment, but that wasn't what he got.  Instead, he got polished gryphons layered over an exquisite set of mail.  Adrian at least had the decency to look sheepish as he held his hand out to Dorian.  “Let’s try this again.  My name is Adrian Stone, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and this is my lover Zevran Arainai.  We were sincere in our reasons for bringing you up here, provided you answer a few questions first.”

Dorian lowered his staff, then leaned it against the wall, but kept it in reach.  “And those questions are?” he drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest.  He followed the couple up here expecting ulterior motives other than the obvious, but that didn’t mean he was happy to have those suspicions confirmed.

“Are you here slaving, and do you practice blood magic?”

Of all the questions Adrian could have asked, those were the ones Dorian should have expected the most.  He knew what southerners felt about his homeland; he could see it every time someone denied him service, or in the way eyes followed him as he walked through towns.  Still, they were still somehow anticlimactic after all of the build up.  “Let me see.  No, and no.  For what it’s worth, I’m traveling to Redcliffe to find a friend, who I believe has gotten into some trouble.”

Dorian didn’t know why he was telling them that, but he figured, if there was anyone who could champion a lost cause, it would be a grey warden.

“Redcliffe, hm?” Adrian mused as Zevran shoved a goblet of wine into Dorian’s hands.  “Interesting.”

Dorian opened his mouth to ask why it was so interesting, but instead he found Zevran’s lips on his own, and _Maker,_ how the elf could kiss.  It was quick, and left Dorian wanting more, when Zevran pulled away with an impish grin.  “Apologies.  I just thought to myself _Zevran, they are going to talk all night if you don’t do something._ And so I did.  Perhaps, not as effective as it would have been if I’d taken off all my clothing first, but half the fun was in the unwrapping.”

“ _Andraste’s tits,_ ” Adrian cursed at the same time.  “You look as beautiful together as I thought you would.”

“So that’s that, then?  You just take the _evil Tevinter magister_ at his word?”  Dorian couldn’t quite believe it.

A significant look passed between the two, and Adrian shrugged as he crowded in closer.  Dorian made a soft sound of surprise as his back hit the wall.  “You could say I have a   _talent_ for knowing when someone is dishonest,” Adrian explained before taking a taste of Dorian’s lips for his own.

That, it seemed, was that.  Dorian was still curious about, well, everything, but there were far more pressing matters to see to, such as the brush of stubble against his throat, and the feel of warm, calloused hands working him from his breeches.

_______

 

Ian woke up with the worst hangover of his life, and what the fuck did he do to his hand?  He peeled his eyes open then slammed them shut again and turned his face down into the..straw beneath him?  That couldn’t be right, not that Ian hadn’t woken up hungover in his fair share of stables before, it was just in general, he remembered getting there.

He groaned as he rolled over onto his back, and tried again at opening his eyes.  The low, stone roof of what Ian was beginning to believe wasn’t a stable, began to resolve itself into focus, as he did his best to ignore the sound of scuffling somewhere to his left.  Harder to ignore was the voice that came along with the scuffling.  “The prisoner is awake.  Inform Seeker Pentaghast.”

Prisoner!?  Shit.  Ian worked his way up to his knees, hampered by the shackled bar that bound his wrists.  This wasn’t even the first time he’d woken in a cell, but for some reason there was a touch of hysteria crowding in from the recesses of his mind.  His memory was a blur.  The last thing he could remember clearly was entering the Temple, and then, there was a woman, and a flash of green..and…

His head hurt, and his entire arm ached, but for the life of him Ian couldn’t remember what had brought him here, let alone give him a clue as to where _here_ was.

He risked a glance upwards, to find himself surrounded by guards with their blades already drawn.  It seemed that touch of hysteria wasn’t unwarranted. _Sweet Merciful Maker_ what had he gotten himself into?  Ian licked his lips and tried to clear his throat.  It felt as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in days.  “What’s goin--” he began to question, but a green light flashed as hot, burning pain flared in his hand.  The sudden pain shocked him back into silence, save for the pained groan that fell from his lips, and threatened to send him sprawling onto his back once more.  The light faded as quickly as it came, and took most of the pain with it.  That, at least explained why Ian’s arm was aching, while at the same time it left far more questions in it’s wake than he had to begin with.

He wasn’t left alone with those questions for long.

Two women let themselves into his cell with disdain and anger written all over their faces.  Ian shrank back as one stalked closer.  “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now? The conclave is destroyed.  Everyone who attended is dead; except for you.”

Ian’s head jerked up, as he stared at the woman in disbelief.  “What do you mean everyone’s dead?”

That was impossible.  There had been hundreds of people at the Temple when Ian arrived; he remembered that much.  The idea that they were _all_ gone was unthinkable.

"Explain this?"  The woman grabbed Ian's hand and brought it up to his face.  Contrary to what Ian thought before, the green light _hadn’t_ faded.  It was there, somehow _inside_ of his hand.  He reflexively clenched his fist closed in a vain attempt to block out the eerie light.  This couldn't be real.  It had to be some sort of alcohol fueled dream.  This was what he got for trying to give it up; for trying to be a better man.  He just didn't want his first time seeing Logan after all this time to be tainted by the waste he'd made of his life.  

"I..I can't.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”    
  
“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!  Please, I don't understand.  This is some sort of joke, yes?  What did I do last night to deserve this? I-I'm sorry.  I k-now I can be a bit of a wild drunk, but I’ve never hurt anyone, let alone blown anything up!"

“Does it look like we’re joking to you?"  His half-stuttered apology was the wrong thing to say, as the woman released Ian and pushed him away.  “You think you’re what?  Hungover?  You’ve been unconscious for three days, and you think it’s because of some drunken bender?  You’re lying!”

She came at him again, and Ian could do little more than take it.  This was it, this was how he died; confused and out of his league.  His clothing did little to soften the blow she landed into his side, and for the second time since waking, Ian’s breath was pushed from his lungs.  It was then, the second woman stepped forward.  Ian had forgotten she was even there.

“We need him, Cassandra.”  She was cool, and composed where the first woman, Cassandra, was raging emotions.  Still, her quiet words, paired with a tight grip, were enough to save Ian from Cassandra’s rage as she released him with an angry huff then stalked into the shadows of Ian’s cell.

Ian took the moment’s reprieve to try and catch his breath and wrap his head around everything he was being told.  It was becoming clear with every passing moment, that no, he was not hungover, and that something so much worse than a night of heavy drinking and debauchery had happened.

“I can’t believe it.”  He thought again, of the Temple approach; he Chantry sister, and the Templar who argued with him along the way, the mages in the courtyard who pointed him in the direction of Lo--- _Oh.  Maker.  No._ If what Cassandra said was true then--NO.  Ian’s gut clenched, and this time it had nothing to do with the insanity that was his hand, or Cassandra’s punch.  He..he would just have to believe that he was wrong.  Perhaps Logan was with the rebel mages after all.  That was more like his fool of a brother anyway.  “All those people, dead.”

This second woman might have been stone-faced and impassive, but she made Ian feel small as she looked down upon him.  “Do you remember what happened?  How this  began?”

Ian’s mind was still reeling, but there was something, wasn’t there?  There were half remembered flashes; things that he’d dismissed as nightmares upon waking.  “I remember running.”  The darkness was cloying, but ahead there was a light.  He could make it.  He could.  He didn’t know what he was running from, but the thought of being caught was terrifying. “Things were chasing me.”  A glance back over his shoulder revealed skittering in the darkness.  Glowing green eyes blinked back at him--too many eyes.  They were getting closer.  He needed to go faster.  He needed to reach… “And then.. a woman.”

That piqued the woman’s interest.  “A woman?”

He tried to hold onto the picture, but the vision was fleeting.  “She reached out to me, but then..”  No.  It was gone.  Ian’s head hung low, as he tried to remember anything else, but there was _nothing._  He felt drained.  It was all too much.

Cassandra stepped forward once more, but Ian couldn’t muster the will to look up and meet her gaze.  She sounded as defeated as Ian felt.  “Go to the forward camp, Leliana.  I will take him to the rift.”  

Ian heard footsteps moving away, and then another set came closer.  He tensed as  Cassandra knelt down in front of him, but to his surprise, she began to remove his shackles.  “What did happen?” he asked.  He couldn’t reconcile what little memory he did have with what they were telling him.

“It will be easier to show you,” Cassandra sighed as she helped Ian to stand.  She rebound his hands with rope, then watched as he took his first stumbling step.  His legs didn’t want to cooperate, but with some effort, Ian was able to push his body into motion.  Once she was satisfied that he could follow, Cassandra turned, and led the way from the cell.

It was a short walk.  They stepped out of the holding area, into a small, village Chantry, and from there, into the outside world.  The change in lighting made Ian’s head pound, and he flinched back from it, even as he caught sight of something green in the corner of his eye.  He turned, and the pain was forgotten as Ian’s eyes went wide with horror.

A beam of light and dust, the same color of green as the _thing_ in his hand, pierced the sky above the temple site.  The clouds seemed to churn around it as lightning arced between them.

“We call it the breach,” Cassandra explained as she followed Ian’s gaze.  “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

“Demons?” Ian whispered.  A new wave of terror overtook him; skittering in the dark, and a voice that made his hair stand on end.

Cassandra looked grim.  “It’s not the only such rift.  Just the largest.  All were created at the explosion at the conclave.”

“An explosion I survived,” Ian mused.  “An explosion can do that?”

“This one did.”

Ian licked his lips as he let Cassandra’s words sink in.  The world they lived in was not a safe one.  You heard about it all the time; from blights to uprisings, but he never imagined that anything like this could happen.  Something of this magnitude...

As if reading his mind, Cassandra continued, “Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

In a show of cosmic timing, something inside the rift exploded and fell from the sky.  Ian couldn’t see what it was or where it landed because the _thing_ in his hand seemed to explode at the same time.  The pain sent him to his knees with a loud cry.   _Maker_ it was tearing him apart.  He turned away from the unnatural light, but couldn’t escape the pain.  The sharp burn faded, as it had before, and Ian cradled the injury to his chest as Cassandra knelt before him.

“Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads, and it’s killing you.”

“Tell me about it,” Ian ground out in a tone as heavy with pain as it was dry humor.  He attempted a smile, but Cassandra didn’t seem to appreciate his effort.

“It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Because of course it was.  There had to be a reason he survived the explosion, after all.  Wasn’t that how these things worked?  Joke was on Cassandra though, because they were _screwed_ if it was up to Ian to save anything.  He couldn’t even find his own twin.

Still, he recognized Cassandra’s plea for what it was, and in the end, it wasn’t really like Ian had any other choice.  He might have survived the explosion, but it was clear that he was on borrowed time.  “Just tell me what to do.”

Cassandra seemed surprised, but pleased as she helped him to his feet once more.  “Then come.

_________

 

Holding the last rift between the base camp and the temple ruins was becoming a lost cause.  They had done well enough early on, when most of Cullen’s surviving soldiers were fresh, but now the strain was weighing down on them, and even his most seasoned fighters were falling short.  They were losing ground, and they were losing it fast.

Cullen prepared himself to give the order to fall back, when he caught sight of fresh soldiers joining the fray.  Cassandra, Solas, and Varric followed but a moment later, with the prisoner between them.  For the first time, Cullen got a good look at the man.  He had the look of someone who was very much out of his depth, and it didn’t take Cullen long to figure out why.

His form was _atrocious._  The man was waving about his sword and shield like he never held either in his life.  He’d have better luck giving up on the sword altogether, and just using the shield like a battering ram.  Still, Cullen had to give him credit.  The man looked terrified, but he wasn’t backing away.  He threw himself into the melee with the confidence of a seasoned warrior even though he lacked the skill.

The group fought their way towards the rift, so Cullen did what he could to aid them.  “Hold the line!  Get those demons down!”

One by one the demons fell, but killing them did nothing to stop the next wave.  Cullen sucked in his breath, and raised his shield.  When they came, he would be ready for them--but another wave of demons never appeared.

After a third failed attempt to close a rift on his own, Solas theorized that their prisoner and the mark in his hand would be the key to closing the rifts, and it seemed that the mage was right.  The prisoner raised the mark towards the rift and a beam of light connected the two.  The soldiers fell silent as the air around them was filled with a hum that made the hairs on Cullen’s arms stand on end.  The hum built in frequency until the prisoner pushed his hand forward, and the rift _shattered._

Moments passed, and Cullen realized he was holding his breath.  The Breach remained, but this rift, at least was gone.  Perhaps, they had a chance.  He looked to Cassandra to confirm that they were continuing on, before issuing orders to his soldiers.  “Alright!  I know you’re tired, but I need you to hold on just a little longer.  Those of you who are injured, fall back to base camp!  Anyone who can still fight, continue on to the Temple with Seeker Pentaghast!  Move out!”

The soldiers seemed just as awed as Cullen was, but the knew the sound of an order when they heard one.  “You’ll find the path to the Temple clear.”

Cassandra gave him a nod, but Cullen was distracted to find the prisoner's eyes on him.  The man’s eyes were green--too green almost, the green of the Breach.  Their eyes locked, for just a moment, until the other man blinked and the moment was gone.  Cullen gave himself a mental shake.  Now was neither the time or the place be noticing such things.  “I hope you are what they say you are, for all our sakes.”

They parted ways then.  Cullen wanted nothing more to continue on to the Breach, but he had a duty to his men, and he would see the wounded safely back to base camp.

__________

It was the early hours of morning when Adrian finally explained his thoughts on Dorian’s final destination.  “I try not to believe in fate, or destiny,” he whispered so as not to wake Zevran, who was curled up against his back.  “But after some of the things I’ve survived, well, it’s difficult.  You said you were traveling to Redcliffe?”

“Felix wrote that they were searching out the rebel mages, and if the rumors are correct…”  The letter was so vague.  Dorian couldn’t be sure that he was heading in the right direction.

Adrian sighed.  “They are.  It seems then, that something has brought us together for more than a few rounds of athletic sex.  A friend of mine--a merchant-- is taking a supply train down to Lothering, and from there to Redcliffe.  Zevran and I agreed to go with them for a distance, but we have other business that keeps us from making the full trip.  Bohdan will be glad for the protection you can offer, should you want to join them.”

Dorian blinked in the low light of the room.  “That’s..convenient.  This friend will have no issues bringing along a Tevinter mage?”

“Bohdan,” Adrian laughed, then stilled when Zevran grumbled behind him.  After a moment, he continued, quieter.  “Bohdan has traveled with far more varied company than that.  You’ll fit right in.”

“It sounds to me that there’s a story,” Dorian mused as he thought the offer over.  Travelling with a caravan _was_ his original plan, but what were the odds that he would walk into a tavern, meet, and then sleep with the Warden Commander and his lover, and then they would just so happen to be travelling in the same direction he wanted to go.

He was startled from his thoughts as Adrian leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss against his forehead.  “You’re too handsome to scrunch your face that way; as Zevran tells me, you’ll get wrinkles.  Take the offer for what it is.  Sometimes things come easily.  Enjoy it while it last.”

“Well, I certainly don’t,” Dorian huffed with a smile.

“No you don’t,” Adrian agreed as he settled back on his pillow.  “You gave us quite the workout, and that doesn’t happen often.  Think on travelling with us, if you must.  Either way, I’ll wake you when we go.”

Dorian took the warning for what it was.  Dawn was a precious few hours away, and whether he decided on traveling with the caravan or not, he was expected to leave when his bedmates did.  He could handle that, and perhaps he would take Adrian up on the offer.  Dorian might be suspicious of the way things were suddenly working in his favor, but in the end, why shouldn’t he take advantage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Longest chapter by far, but there was a lot to get in there. I hope everyone enjoyed it! The threesome written into this chapter wasn't something I'd planned on putting in the fic, but as I was writing, Dorian was moving too quickly across Ferelden and I had to slow him down somehow. So, I decided to write Bohdan and Sandal in, then with them came Zevran and the Warden. I might do a kind of cut scene thing later with all the dirty details, but for now I want to concentrate on getting the title characters together ;p
> 
> Enough rambling. Thank you again for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, bookmarking and whatnot. It means a lot to me!
> 
> As always, I can be found @mostlyharmlessgaming on tumblr, and am always happy to chat.
> 
> Next chapter:
> 
> Cullen and Cassandra discuss faith, Dorian is surrounded by crazy people, and so is Ian.


	4. Leavetaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian begins his journey from Highever to Redcliffe and the groundwork for the Inquisition is set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains more Dorian/M!Warden/Zevran.  
> Mentions of Mild Alcoholism.

**Chapter Four**

 

Bohdan, turned out to be a genial surface dwarf, who was pleased enough to have Dorian along, free of charge, provided he could fight.  His son, Sandal, traveled with him, along with another family destined for Redcliffe, a cloth merchant whom they would part ways with in Lothering, and a tranquil who introduced himself as Jowan when prompted.  Dorian could see why Adrian wanted an able fighter along; they would be helpless without the Warden Commander and his assassin lover.

No comments were made about Dorian’s heritage, nor about the staff he carried.  It was a breath of fresh air against the comments he’d endured through the rest of his trip.

The caravan consisted of two heavy carts pulled by a single druffalo each.  The animals were slow, and the carts forced them to remain on the road, but Dorian found he didn’t mind the pace, as the company was pleasant enough.  His worry for Felix and Alexius still gnawed at him like an undercurrent always there, even as he smiled or flirted with Zevran.

Speaking of Zevran, to Dorian’s surprise, as they made camp the first night, he found himself pulled into the tent the elf shared with Adrian.  What they’d shared at the inn had been nice, but Dorian hadn’t expected a repeat performance. Again, the two lovers defied his expectations.  What was even more puzzling, was the reaction of the rest of the camp, or rather the like of it.

Dorian expected glares and whispers behind his back, but there was nothing.

The nights in the Warden Commander’s tent, though satisfying, were bittersweet.  Dorian couldn’t help but envy Zevran and Adrian’s relationship.  They had such an ease with each other that defied words, and was almost intimidating when they turned the full force of their bond on Dorian.  It filled Dorian with such a longing, even though he’d resigned himself a long time ago to the kind of relationship he  _ could _ have.

Their kind of unapologetic openness just wasn’t possible in Tevinter.  Dorian should know; oh, how he’d tried.

The longing didn’t stop him from sharing their tent.  His days were spent watching for trouble, and flirting with Zevran, then at night they would eat with the group at the campfire, then retire to the tent until it was time for one of them to take watch.

It went on like that for three days, but all good things must come to an end, and they reached the point where Adrian and Zevran were breaking off from the group to tend to their own business.

Their last night together found Dorian and Adrian sitting alone by the fire.

“I don’t know why he insisted on hunting for dinner.  Zevran’s hopeless at hunting, unless it’s a mark.  Assassination he’s good at, but dinner?”  They both shook their heads at the mental image of Zevran swooping down on an unsuspecting bunny.

Well, this was as good time as ever then.  It was rare that the lovers were more than a meter from each other, and Dorian might not get the chance to sate his curiosity about Adrian again.  Dorian looked into the fire and licked his lips.  “Might I ask you a question?”

Adrian gave him a long glance from the corner of his eyes.  “Will saying no stop you from asking?”

Dorian took a moment to consider it.  “Likely, no.”

“Then, by all means,”  Adrian laughed and gave him a wink to show he wasn’t as concerned about what Dorian wanted to ask him as his words might have implied.

“It’s just that you don’t seem the type to..”

“Pick up a strange mage in a bar and spend the next three days sharing him with his lover?”

Dorian laughed.  “Well, it sounds even more lewd when you put it like that.  Well done.”

“I do try,” Adrian said with some seriousness as he leaned forward and braced his elbows against his knees.  He stared into the fire for a moment before turning to give Dorian a wry smile.  “If you asked me that years ago, I’d have agreed with you, but now?  Dorian, life is too short.”

“Too short for what?” Dorian frowned at the sudden change in demeanor.  Throughout their travels, Adrian had been nothing, if not delightful and full of good humor.  Now, he looked almost haunted.  The reflection of the fire, made his hair seem more the color of blood and the way Adrian stared at it without seeing the fire at all made a shiver crawl up Dorian’s spine.

“Everything.”  Adrian turned that thousand-mile stare back on Dorian, and somehow that was so much worse.  Dorian wasn’t one to touch readily.  When he was younger, and still wanted for his father’s approval, containing himself was a necessity, and now it was habit.  With that in mind, he still wanted to reach out to his new friend and offer what comfort he could, even though it wasn’t his place.  “The world has a funny way of putting you where you never expected.  Sometimes that just..doesn’t work out so well.  Any of us could die at anytime, so don’t waste it.  Grab the bull by the horns.  Take chances.”

“Bed who you want?”

“Bed who you want,” Adrian agreed with a pained smile, then amended his statement.  “Within reason.  When Zevran pointed you out in the tavern, could we have continued on with our night without seducing you?  Absolutely.  Would I have regretted that choice later?  Knowing what I know now, sure, and even having made the choice to go ahead, there was always the chance that you’d turn us down.”

It seemed all too easy a sentiment.   _ Life is short, live to the fullest, _ but Dorian could see that there was weight behind Adrian’s words.  It was something to do with that bit of past they didn’t broach; the one that led to long looks and desperate touches between Adrian and Zevran before the smiles returned.  Dorian couldn’t say that he wasn’t curious, but it was obvious that the memories caused Adrian pain, and he didn’t want to ruin their last night together by pressing.

He made up his mind, and reached out and gave the other man’s shoulder a light squeeze.  The small touch was enough to break Adrian out of his fugue.

Adrian flashed Dorian a quick grin, though it was still but a ghost compared to the broad smile that the man had worn throughout most of their acquaintance.  “Sorry,” he apologized.  “I get a little deep sometimes, but, if you take nothing else from our time together, then remember this; Don’t be afraid to take that chance when it comes.  Of all the things life is too short for, regret is the biggest.  Don’t leave things left unsaid.  Don’t tell yourself that you’ll say them later.  Later might never happen.”

Dorian wanted to joke it off.  He wanted to make a witty quip and lighten the mood.  Instead, he found himself taken by Adrian’s earnest plea, and found himself agreeing to follow the advice.  “I will.”  

The fire cracked in the silence that followed.

“Now, here are two men who are much too handsome to be frowning so.”  Dorian jumped as Zevran blocked out the firelight in front of them.  “Clearly, you have been bereft of my presence for far too long.  I understand your urge to stare into the firelight, as it is nearly as captivating as my many charms, but do not fear.  I have returned to save your eyes from the strain, and perhaps, to stare at you just as longingly.”

Adrian let out a sharp bark of laughter as he reached up and pulled Zevran down into his lap.  “My hero.”

“Ah, it is good to be appreciated, no?”  Zevran squirmed about until he found a comfortable position to sprawl against his lover.

“I want what you have.” The words passed Dorian’s lips before he even realized he was thinking them, but it was true.

“You’ll get it,” Adrian reassured them.  His smile was once again broad, and open.  It was as if Zevran’s very presence lifted the heavy burden off the warden.  “Just remember what I told you.”

“And what secrets have you been telling him?”  Zevran demanded.  “Not the thing you do with your tongue?  If so, then he has nothing to worry about.  That little trick of yours certainly brought me back to your bedroll.”

Adrian laughed again, and pressed a kiss to Zevran’s neck.  “Nothing that you wouldn’t approve of.”

Dorian let out a snort as he made no secret of watching them.  “Should I leave you two to catch up?”

One of those heavy, significant looks passed between the lovers before Adrian shook his head.  “Of course not.  It’s our last night together, and I believe I’ve already made my feelings on wasting time known.”

“Oh, so it was  _ that  _ conversation was it?”  Zevran turned and nipped at Adrian’s ear before he  _ oozed _ from the man’s lap.  “Allow me to let you both in on a secret, and perhaps put you in a better mind.  I  _ was not  _ hunting.  Instead, I took the time to prepare my body; to take both of you,  _  at the same time. _ ”

He held out his hands for Adrian and Dorian to take.  “Let’s make the most of my  _ hard _ work, yes?”

_______

Cullen leaned back against the wall and stared up at the Breach.  The prisoner had successfully closed the rift, but the tear in the sky remained.  It wasn’t as jarring as it used to be, and Cullen wasn’t sure that that was a good thing.  What did it say about him that he could so easily accept the sign of their possible demise?  After all, the large rift might be closed, but the Breach remained and still had no idea how, or why it was opened in the first place.  Of all the questions that gnawed at Cullen about their current situation, it was the  _ who _ ? That bothered him the most.  Who had that kind of power?

The door next to him opened, and pulled Cullen’s attention back down from the heavens.  Cassandra stepped through the threshold, then closed it again behind her.  “The mark seemed to be paining him, but he’s stable. According to Solas, all we can do for now is let him sleep and replenish the energy he lost.  He remains hopeful that we will be able to seal the Breach entirely, but it will take much more energy than our  _ Herald _ has.”

That was encouraging.  When they carried the man back into Haven, Cullen wasn’t even sure he lived.  They’d quickly sequestered him in one of the empty buildings, but not quick enough.  News traveled fast in Haven, and the townspeople had gathered outside to try and catch a glimpse of their savior.  Funny how one moment he was the murderer of the Divine, and the next he was the Herald of Andraste.

Cullen wasn’t sure if he believed _that,_ but there was no question that he wanted to.  He was no stranger to heroes who seemed to show up just when you needed them.  He’d been resigned to death in Kinloch Hold--more that that, he’d begged for it all to end, when the Hero of Ferelden fought his way into the Harrowing chamber, and despite all odds, saved him.  Kirkwall had been falling apart around Cullen when Darren _bloody_ Hawke had showed up like a beacon of hope, sarcasm, and bad taste.

Could he be so lucky to be in the shadow of such a man for a third time?  Only time would tell, but at least now, Cullen felt like they had a fighting chance.

He pushed away from the wall to walk next Cassandra as they fought their way through the crowd.  “Don’t you all have work to be doing?”

The soldiers in the group jumped at that, but the civilians ignored him.  Typical.  Cassandra squeezed Cullen’s shoulder as they stepped out into the open.  “Let them stand their vigil.  Yesterday, they had no hope, but today they have something they can believe in.”

Cullen glanced at Cassandra sideways.  She was looking straight ahead, but there was a telltale flush to her cheeks that she only got when she revealed something personal by accident.  “And you, do you believe in him?”

Cassandra sighed and shook her head.  “I cannot deny what I saw at the temple; what I heard.  I cannot say if he is holy, or unlucky, but the fact doesn’t change that the world is reeling from what happened to the Conclave, and we  _ need _ someone to unite behind.”

There was more that she wasn’t saying, but Cullen didn’t press, just as she hadn’t those first few months after leaving Kirkwall. Those had been hard months for Cullen, as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was turning his back on the Order and breaking his oaths.  His thoughts on the matter were hard to order, and he could tell from Cassandra’s measured tone that she was having the same difficulty now.

Closing the rifts bought them time-- time to breathe, to heal, and to plan.  

A sudden thought struck him, and Cullen let out a snort before he could stop himself.

Cassandra startled and turned to him with an arched brow.  

It was Cullen’s turn to flush as he explained himself.  “It’s just... it’s odd, isn’t it?  We’ve accused, fought with, and now raised this man as if he’s holy, but we don’t even know his name.  Did anyone think to ask it?”

The corner of Cassandra’s lips ticked upwards in a rare smile.  “No.  I did not think to ask, but that did not stop him from telling me.  Ian Trevelyan.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide as he was struck by a sudden memory.  Before the explosion, in the base camp there was a man that had been looking for someone, a sibling.  “Ian Trevelyan.  I believe I remember seeing him at the base camp, now.  I didn’t catch his name then, but he was looking for someone, a Logan Trevelyan.”

“A possible sibling,” Cassandra mused, her voice going soft.  They were nearing the Chantry now, and it wouldn’t be due to be overheard.  “The Trevelyans are a large family.  Josephine may know more.”

Josephine did know more.  She and Leliana were waiting in the back chamber, and she was all too glad to share what she knew after being given the name.  “Well, that will certainly help our reputation among the nobility, unless, of course, he’s the youngest son.  He has  _ quite  _ the reputation at court, for being a rake.”  It was hard to tell if she was excited by the prospect or scandalized.  “I will write Bann Trevelyan right away.  If nothing else, he should like to know that the son he sent still lives.”

“So, this won’t change our plans then?”  They’d given it some discussion, but Cullen still wasn’t sure that the current plan was the right course of action.  For one, they wanted him to raise an army.  He could train soldiers, yes, but why would they want to follow an untried templar wash-out into battle?  He just didn’t have the experience in warfare that would be expected of him.

“Cements it, if anything,” Leliana scoffed.  “We cannot wait for the Chantry to recover to take action.  Justina wouldn’t have wanted us to wait.  We have the precedence, and the order, but the support of a noble family will give us more standing.”

“But will he support us?”  Among the four of them, Josephine was the only one who hadn’t spoken with the Herald.

Cassandra appeared grim, but she nodded.  “He agreed to do whatever he could to help--with very little prompting.”  

Cullen’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword and gripped tight.  He took comfort of the weight of in in his palm, even if it wasn’t drawn.  “Maker, help us, an Inquisition.  The Chantry will never stand for it.”

“They don’t have to.”  Leliana tilted her chin back, defiant to the last.  “If they won’t support us, then we’ll just have to stand on our own.”

_______

 

Dorian woke alone. For a moment he thought that Adrian and Zevran snuck off without saying goodbye, but the sound of Adrian's voice outside told otherwise.  Dorian was loathe to leave the warmth of the bedroll, but the voices were heated, and as always, his curiosity won out.  He forced himself to leave the furs behind, and shivered in the cool morning air as he dressed.

Just outside the tent, Adrian and Zevran were bent over a piece of parchment, whispering back and forth.  They glanced upwards as Dorian approached and beckoned him closer.

"Trouble?" Dorian questioned after taking in how pale Adrian was, and how serious they both were.

"Of the worst sort," Zevran sighed.

Adrian reached out and squeezed his hand, but looked like he wanted to do more.  If their demeanors were alarming, their restraint was even more so.  "I received a letter from an old friend this morning.  There was an explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  The Divine, and everyone in attendance at her Conclave are dead.  Worse, though it boggles the mind, some sort of rift has been opened into the Fade.  One that allows demons passage through the Veil."

To say Dorian was shocked at Adrian's words was an understatement.  He'd heard rumors of the Conclave while in the Free Marches, but had left Tevinter far too late to attend it himself, not that he would be welcome.

"This rift was spitting out smaller ones, but it seems that they've found a way to keep it from continuing to spread.  She writes something about a 'Herald of Andraste', but she remains vague on that matter, likely in an attempt to tempt me to make the trip."

"Sweet Maker,"  Dorian cursed.  It was a lot to take in.  Justinia might not have been  _ his _ Diving, but Dorian could recognize the tragedy for what it was.  Not to mention, the demons.  "The kind of power it would take to achieve such a thing.  It's unimaginable."  Dorian was no stranger to theoretical magic, but nothing in his experience could bring such an end as demons on the physical plane.  His mind was alight with the possibilities.   

"You would know that better than I," Adrian admitted.  "Between the explosion and the renegade mages and templars continuing to war, the Hinterlands is in chaos, and Leliana fears the sentiment is spreading along with the news as the Divine's death.  They have no leads.  But have declared an Inquisition, in an attempt to bring order and investigate the cause.  Leliana wants me to come and throw my lot in with them."

"She wants you to lead it, you mean," Zevran corrected with a sour look.

Adrian sighed, "Yes, that, but that won't happen, as I can't join them."

Now that, Dorian didn't believe.  One didn't get to be the Warden commander of Ferelden by buggering off when things got tough.  Adrian practically had "please, let me throw myself in the path of danger for you' written across his forehead.  "Funny.  I thought you just said you weren't joining.  Aren't Grey Wardens supposed to be all about this end of the world stuff?"

"We are," Adrian huffed.  He was all frowns and seriousness now, and not even Dorian's attempt at levity could bring a smile to his face. "But, the business that brought me here is just as important.  It might even be related."

He was as vague as ever, but clearly committed to his course of action.  Dorian would give him that much.  "So what are we supposed to do then?  Go on like nothing has happened?"

"Almost," Zevran said.  "The change of plans is on my part, I'm afraid.  I will return to Antiva and put my contacts of use, while my love will continue on his own into the dark."  He didn't look pleased about it, and Dorian didn't blame him, even if he had no inkling of what  _ into the dark _ meant.

"And I just continue on to Redcliffe?"

"It's close to Haven, where the Inquisition is gathering.  Once you find your friends, you're welcome to continue on and join them," Adrian sighed with his lips drawn tight.  "Besides, I saw your face when I first spoke of the explosion, you can't tell me that you don't think your friend might be involved."

He didn't sound accusing, but Dorian still found himself taken aback.  He couldn't deny that part of him thought Alexius might be involved, but the timing was all wrong.  "The cult he attempted to recruit me to, perhaps, but there's no way that he could do so personally.  He left Tevinter mere days before I did, and Felix wrote that they'd be traveling by land."  If anything, Dorian should reach Redcliffe  _ before _ Alexius.

Adrian seemed to sense he’d offended Dorian, but he didn’t apologize for it.  His shoulders slumped and he tugged at a strand of his hair until Zevran pulled his hand away to curl their fingers together.  He chanced another glance up at Dorian, then shook his head and looked back towards the ground.  “Forgive me, I’m not myself today.  All other concerns aside, I would appreciate it if you would remain with Bohdan.  They do not know how far these smaller rifts have reached, and you may very well encounter one on the road.”

Dorian had not thought of that.  In his curiosity, and need to not sit around while  _ the world was ending _ he’d overlooked the innocent lives counting on him for protection during their trip.  “I’m not keen to test my mettle against demons in the flesh, but that’s the way of it then.”

His frank assessment seemed to snap Adrian out of his fugue long enough to crack a smile. “Right on the nose.  We’ll make a warden of you yet.”

“Absolutely not,” Dorian huffed.  “Grey’s not my color.”

“I hate to interrupt your conversation Messeres, but we’re about ready to leave.”  Sure enough, a quick glance around the camp confirmed that all the other tents were packed away, leaving only the Warden’s.

“Ah, thank you Bohdan.  I promise I won’t hold you up for much longer.”  Adrian bit down on his bottom lip and offered the dwarf his hand.  Despite his resolution, it was clear that he didn’t want to leave his friends to the danger.  “And remember what I told you hm?  We’ll get this tent packed up now so you can be on your way.”

They parted ways and left Dorian alone with the couple once more.  Zevran began to pack their items while Adrian started dismantling the tent.

“Well, I suppose this is in then,” Dorian sighed.

“It is.  It was always going to be.  Now, come here and help me do this you lazy bastard.  You’ll need to know how to put it together; it’s going with you.  Neither Zevran or I will need it where we’re going.”  Adrian shot Dorian a subdued grin, and beckoned him closer.

“That, and we wanted to give you something to remember us by.”  Zevran added.  He was doing a much better job of acting like there was nothing wrong.

Dorian let out a snort as he dismantled one of the tent poles.  “I believe I have plenty of bruises between my thighs to serve as a reminder, you beast.”

“But, bruises fade, no?”

“And tents are forever?”

“That they are.”

 

__________

 

When Ian wandered his way into the Chantry’s back room, he never expected he was about to join a possibly heretical quasi-religious movement, but there he was, throwing his lot in with a group of people who, days before, wanted to see him on the executioner’s block.  Three days unconscious was not enough time to process all of this  _ bullshit _ .

“Now that we have a plan, there’s something else we need to discuss.”

“Well,  _ that _ sounds foreboding,” he tried for good humor, but to be honest the four sets of eyes following his every breath were making him nervous.

It was Josephine that broke the news.  “We’ve heard from your father.”

Ian scowled and didn’t care who saw it.   _ Of course _ they’d written his father, and he was sure the man had sent back a  _ sterling _ report between demands to send him home.  “I bet that was an interesting read.”

“It was,” Leliana agreed.  “He’s demanded your immediate return.”

“I’d guessed as much,” Ian shrugged.  He was unsure why they didn’t just come out with it.  He was well aware of his father’s opinion of him, and it wasn’t anything that would benefit their Inquisition.  “You know,” he couldn’t help but add, “I was rather hoping you  _ wouldn’t _ write him.”

Cullen let out a small snort that drew Ian’s attention.  “We can see why.  Your father is under the impression that you’ve somehow conned us.”

“The slight to our intelligence aside,” Cassandra continued.  “He also says that you are a drunk, a deviant, and a disgrace.”

“Oh, all three Ds.  Please tell me you’re repeating that verbatim.”  Ian didn’t like the way they were looking at him.  He was beginning to think their little spiel in front of Roderick had been a ruse, and at any moment his hand was going to get pinned to the table so they could cut it off.  He almost didn’t blame them.  In what universe was he fit to be known as the Herald of Andraste.

Cassandra already had him pinned with a glare. “So, you do not deny this?”

Ian’s shoulders slumped as he pushed his hair back out of his face.  “I don’t know what all he wrote, but he’s not a man prone to exaggeration.”  He risked a glance upwards to find them staring at him expectantly, so he continued.  “Look.  I’ve made many bad choices, most of them on purpose, and have never regretted doing it until this moment really.

“I have been a thorn in my father’s side since the day I was born, and there’s nothing I can do to change that now, but those people out there?  For whatever reason, they believe in me;  _ Andraste’s knickers, _ you seem to believe in me.  I will be the first to admit that you’re all insane for that, because I  _ am _ a screw up of the worst sort, but for perhaps the first time ever I don’t  _ want _ to let anyone down.  You have no reason to trust my word, but I’m giving it to you anyway.  I will not let that belief down.

“You say that I’m the only one that can seal the Breach?  Then I’m going to do it or die trying.”

His impassioned words startled even Ian himself.  He blinked, realizing that at some point during his tirade he slammed his hand down onto his table.   “Well, um that was something,” Ian sighed as he started to curl back in on himself.  Why had he let his mouth run off without him?

“Well, he has the rousing speech part down,” Leliana drawled.  The lightness of her tone startled Ian into looking back up.

“We’ll have to work on that reputation though,” Josephine lamented.

Cassandra shook her head.  “It’s the least of our worries for now.  I believe the questions we had have been suitably answered.  There is still much to be done.”

Ian couldn’t help but stare at the lot of them.  His embarrassment was gone, and was replaced by a growing confusion.  “So, this wasn’t a  _ sorry, but you’re far too much of a liability please leave _ speech?”  His voice grew in pitch, and he was aware that he was approaching hysteria, when a chuckle broke the spell.

The Commander flashed Ian a wry smirk, and drawled in a tone that was just as much self-depreciating as it was fond,  “Embrace that emotion, you’ll be feeling a lot of it.”

That earned the man a weak smile.  Ian was no stranger to being in a state of confusion, but in general only after a night of heavy drinking.  “This, it was some kind of test then?”

“It was an easy way to take stock of your character,” Leliana explained, frank, and not in the least bit apologetic.  “If you were the man the letter you described you to be, you would have tried to talk your way out of it.”

“And,” Josephine huffed, “there was always the chance the letter  _ was _ an exaggeration.”

It wasn’t really, but at least one of them gave Ian the benefit of the doubt.  “Josephine’s my favorite.  The rest of you are horrible people, and should be ashamed of yourselves.  I already fear the Maker, there was no reason to intimidate me.”

Cassandra’s face pinched as she let out a disgruntled huff.  “You have a strange sense of humor.  If we are done acting like children, we all have work to do.”

Ian was beginning to have second thoughts on this whole joining an Inquisition deal.  True, he didn’t have anywhere to go but home, and also true, they were his best chance in finding Logan if he still lived, but they were also clearly insane.

Maybe he was insane.  Perhaps the withdrawal and seasickness had addled his brains and he was still on the ship he took from Ostwick.  From the conclave to his non-memories of what happened after the explosion and the  _ thing _ in his hand, it was all getting to be too much to bear, but what choice did Ian have?

_ What he needed was a drink. _

No.  He just finished promising the other people in the room that he would do his best for him, and he couldn't afford falling back into that trap again.  He would just have to find somewhere quiet to try and process.  “We’re done here then?”  

Ian might have been imagining it, but Cassandra’s face softened, just a little.  “Yes, I’ll find you later today to discuss our travel plans.”

That was a relief.  Ian turned to make a break for the door before they changed their mind, but he was stopped by a soft cough.  His shoulders slumped as he turned back to the table once more, to find Cullen was the one to stop him.

“There’s one more matter of business, I’m afraid.  We need to discuss your training regimen.”

His what?

_______

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, goodbye Zevran and Adrian. We might see them again later, but not for a while.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Next Chapter:
> 
> Cullen and Ian train before Ian sets off for the Crossroads, and Dorian gets to know some of the other members of the caravan better now that he's not distracted by the Warden Commander and his leather clad assassin lover.


	5. Ordeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian gets a bit of exercise, Dorian has a close call, and Cullen was not meant for bureaucracy.

After all the build up surrounding Adrian and Zevran’s departure, the next three days were almost a disappointment.  They woke with the dawn, traveled until lunch time, ate, traveled until dinner, ate, set up camp, went to sleep, then woke up with the dawn to do it all again.  Dorian kept his eyes alert during the day, and did his rotations during the watch at night, but there were no signs of bandits, let alone demons.

It would have been monotonous, except for the company.  Bohdan often regaled the group with stories of his time in Kirkwall, of which there were plenty.  If they were to be believed, the dwarf had served as the steward for the Champion of Kirkwall in the time leading up to the explosion that kickstarted the mage rebellion.  The stories did border on the unbelievable, but were told with enthusiasm, and the occasional interjection of “Enchantment!” from Bohdan’s son, Sandal.

Jowan, he also learned from Bohdan, had quite the history.  He’d been convicted of blood magic and poisoning the Arl of Denerim during the Blight.  The Hero of Ferelden had granted him his freedom, for aid in healing the Arl later, but it seemed that the Templars had eventually caught up with the man.  Jowan was another one of Adrian’s additions to the party; he’d paid for the Tranquil’s care during the passage to Redcliffe.

“I remember being terrified all the time,” was all that Jowan had to add to the discussion about his past.  “I’m not anymore.”

Learning about the lives of those he was traveling with helped to keep Dorian distracted from the churning in his gut that seemed only to worsen the closer they got to Redcliffe.  Alone, in his tent at night, he couldn’t seem to stop his mind from going over all that was happening.  He went over his last conversation with Alexius time and time again, looking for any clue he could find to absolve his mentor in his involvement with the disaster at the conclave.

Felix’s letter was beginning to fall apart from the number of times Dorian unfolded and refolded it.

He rolled out of his bedroll in the mornings still exhausted, but refused to let it show.  Dorian greeted each day with the smile and swagger that had carried him through the roughest points in his life.  His attitude and flirty manner bewildered some of the party, but Bohdan took it in easy stride, and for some reason, it gained Dorian a shadow in the young son of the family traveling with them.

The child had little common sense, and not an ounce of fear in him.

“Did you rebel from one of the northern circles?”  He also had a thousand and one questions that he was determined to ask once he realized Dorian would answer them.

“In a manner of speaking.”  He’d certainly rebelled his way out of a circle or two, even if it wasn’t in the way the boy was thinking.

“And you’re going to join the rebellion?”

“No,” Dorian explained.  His feelings about the mage rebellion were many and complicated, but he bit his tongue and kept things simple for the child, who didn’t need a lecture of the inevitability of blood magic and abominations.  “I’m going to look for someone.”

That seemed to quiet the child, though for the life of him, Dorian couldn’t tell why.  The boy bit at his bottom lip and looked down as they continued walking.

“We're looking for someone as well,” the boy informed Dorian at length.  “I had a big brother in Kinloch Hold.  He was there when the mages all left.”

Oh.  Dorian supposed that explained some things.  Dorian had heard stories about Kinloch Hold.  He’d spent most of the Blight years in a drunken haze after running away, but sometimes travelers had stopped in the brothel and shared news from the south.  Alexius had shared the details with a more coherent Dorian later, and they’d mused that things were going to turn bad in the South, but neither of them had expected a full scale rebellion. “Well, I hope you find him. .. _ Kaffas _ , I could use a drink.”

“Kaffas?  What does that mean?”

Dorian tensed and looked over his shoulder, expecting the boy’s mother to swoop down upon him without a moment's warning, not that anyone in this part of Ferelden would be familiar with the word.  Still, most people knew a curse when they heard one, and Dorian didn’t want to be left alone in the Ferelden wilderness over something so silly.  “It’s something people say when they’re upset.”

The child frowned at the ground for a moment again before it seemed to dawned on him.  He turned a blinding smile upon Dorian.  “Oh! Like shit!”

Dorian coughed, stuttered, and even stumbled while the small child laughed at him.  Dorian, was clearly out of his league with this one.  “Yes, like shit.  You’re very bright.”

“Of course I am!”

“And humble too.”

“What’s humble mean?”

Maker, if it wasn’t like dealing with a younger, less adorable version of himself.  A bandit attack couldn’t come soon enough. 

“What’s your name, anyway?”  It seemed silly to continue thinking of the boy as well,  _ the boy _ when he could just as easily have a name.

“O!  It’s Adrian!  I’m named after the Hero of Ferelden!”  The child had never looked prouder, though the information startled Dorian.

He blinked as he tried to work his way around that little conundrum.  “So your Hero’s name was Adrian.”

“Adrian Cousland, rest his heart,” Bohdan supplied helpfully as he overheard the turn in conversation.  “Never was so honorable a man.”

Dorian shook his head, “And your current Warden Commander’s name is Adrian Stone.”

“Funny coincidence, isn’t it?”  Bohdan was smiling, but Bohdan was always smiling.  Still, Dorian got the feeling he knew something about that  _ coincidence  _ that he wasn’t telling, and what he knew amused him.

“I’d say,” Dorian drawled with a dirty look in the dwarf’s direction.  This trip was producing far too many questions that Dorian didn’t think he’d ever get answers for.

 

_________

 

“Freeze!”  Ian’s muscles locked at the command.  “Check your footing.”

His shoulders slumped as he looked down at his feet, and sure enough he’d moved out of position-- for the third time since they started this exercise.  Ian groaned and moved back into the proper stance.  Training was slow going, but Ian liked to think he was improving, even if he did need corrected every few breaths.  At least he hadn’t dropped his sword.

Besides, the Commander was in charge of training all of the Inquisition’s forces, surely he could handle one difficult student.

“I’m sorry,” Ian apologized all the same.  “It just doesn’t feel natural.”

“That’s because you’ve been doing it wrong for who knows how long.”  It was clear that the Commander was trying to soften the blow of his words with a light tone and a soft smile, but it was also clear that he was getting frustrated with Ian’s lack of progress.  “Try it again, but take it slow.”

Ian heaved another sigh, but returned to the starting position as instructed only to be interrupted again, before he could even begin the drill.  “Get that shield up.  You won’t block anything, with it so low.”

That was one Ian had heard before.  “You sound like my old Templar master-at-arms,” he complained as he forced his aching arm to pull the shield back up into the proper position.

He was so worried about his form, Ian almost missed the Commander’s surprised jump.  The man’s eyes went wide, then narrowed as he examined Ian’s form with new knowledge.  “The last person to look at me like that, at least bought me a drink first,”  Ian quipped, hoping to break the sudden tension.

The commander’s eyes went wide again, but this time a bright flush coloured his cheeks, and wasn’t that  _ delightful? _  Flushed was a good look on the man.

“I..you..” The Commander seemed to have trouble finding his words.  He stumbled on for a moment, then cleared his throat and pressed on.  “You’ve trained as a templar.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ian confirmed it anyhow.  “Briefly.  I trained as a Templar for two, maybe three months before failing out.”

It seemed that he managed to surprise the Commander for a third time, though this instance wasn’t accompanied by the fetching blush.  “What happened?”

Ian licked his lips, and stalled as he pondered how much he wanted to reveal to the Commander.  They were scant acquaintances--didn’t even refer to each other by name-- but on the other hand,  Ian  _ needed _ these people to trust him, and it wasn’t to say that he didn’t want to get to know them better.

He lowered his weapons and stood in a more comfortable position.  If he was going to spill  _ more _ of his dirty secrets, Ian was going to at least be comfortable while doing so.  “After they took Logan, my brother, to the Circle, I begged to be allowed to join the Order, thinking that I could join my brother there.”

Ian didn’t need to say more.  The Commander frowned as he drew the logical conclusion.  “The Order would never have allowed that.”

It seemed training was over for the morning, as he gestured for Ian to leave the ring then followed him as he did so.  They both availed themselves of their practice weaponry as the conversation continued.  “Yes, as I soon learned.  After it became obvious that continuing wouldn’t get me any closer to Logan, I well, sabotaged myself; became such an annoyance and failure that they had no choice but to let me go.”

The whole ordeal might have been hilarious, if Ian hadn’t been so angry at the time.  The Commander looked horrified at the very idea of it all, and that was when it really clicked for Ian, that the Commander was a Templar as well.  He hadn’t been introduced as such, and he wasn’t wearing the traditional armor, but the similarities between the Commander, and his own master-at-arms couldn’t be coincidental.

“You have the same look now, that some of the other recruits had while I was acting out.  Fond memories,” Ian joked as they made their way into Haven proper.  “You must have trained as a templar as well, to recognize it in me?”

This time, he didn’t manage to startle the other man, instead the Commander seemed resigned,  He clasped his hands in front of him and stroked his thumb over the raised design on his bracer.  There it was, as plain as day; The Sword of Mercy. 

“I left the Order after the mage Rebellion began,” The Commander explained though he said little else.  His gaze went distant as he seemed to retreat inside himself.  Ian could have kicked himself for stirring up bad memories in the man.  He, of all people, knew how it felt to want to leave your past behind.

Ian fell silent, as they continued on the path, until he was forced to intervene as the Commander began to drift.  “Commander!” Ian called out, and when he didn’t come out of fugue  Ian stepped around in front of him and called again, “Cullen!”

The Commander startled once more.  His amber eyes went wide and stared into Ian’s own bright blues, until he realized how close they were and flushed as he moved away.  “Ah.  Uhm.  Forgive me.  I got lost in memory.”

That was an understatement.  “It happens.”  Ian dismissed the Commander’s concern.  “I won’t press.  I already have enough to think about on my long hike through the Hinterlands.”

Ian was not looking forward to the trip.  True, that it would be a short one compared to the distance from Ostwick, but they would be  _ walking _ for the first leg of it, and after a vigorous round of training that morning.  He was still half-convinced they were trying to kill him in hopes the mark would pass to someone more suitable to be called the Herald of Andraste.  Ian curled his fingers into his hair, and pushed some of the sweat soaked locks from his forehead, for all that helped, as they fell back down again.  This trip was going to be hell.

“You should really cut that,” the Commander suggested, much to Ian’s dismay.  “You’re already an inexperienced fighter, should one of your enemies get ahold of it..”

His hair might be a pain in his arse, but it was  _ his _ .  “Absolutely not.  I can’t get rid of all my vices at once.  The world might end.. _ oh _ wait.”

The Commander didn’t seem to appreciate the joke.  “At least tie it back.  I’ve seen how often it gets in your eyes.”

“Perhaps Cassandra will teach me how to braid,” Ian quipped, knowing he had a snowball’s chance in hell of that.  “After all, she’s the one dragging me on a tour of rustic Ferelden.  First we meet with Mother Giselle at the Crossroads, then we double back to speak with the Horsemaster, and depending on what the good Reverend Mother tells us, back up to Redcliffe to beg for an audience with the rebel mages.  Not to mention, while we’re there, Cassandra wants to look into rumors of rebel Templars and  _ rebel _ rebel mages.  Who knew they could rebel twice?“

“Cassandra knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m glad that one of us does,” Ian laughed.  “Because I am woefully out of my depth.”

The Commander flashed Ian a rueful smile, and after a moment’s breath, reached out and clasped him on the shoulder.  “You’re trying, and that’s more than most would do.  Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

It was Ian’s turn to flush, and  _ Maker, _ he hadn’t done that in  _ years. _  The Commander was just so  _ earnest _ about it.  Had they been in Ostwick, Ian would have propositioned the man right then and there.

“I, uhm, thank you.”  He had no idea what to do with the praise, and the Command seemed to realize that.  He flushed again, and released Ian with a slight squeeze.  They continued their journey to the Chantry in awkward silence.

Cassandra was waiting for them outside the Chantry’s doors with her arms crossed.  “There you are.  If we want to make good time before nightfall, we must leave.”

Ian sighed.  No rest for the wicked, it seemed.  He gave Cassandra a tight nod, then turned back to the Commander.  “I suppose this is where we part ways, Commander.  Thank you for the early morning training session, and try not to burn everything down while we’re gone, would you?”

The Commander blinked, surprised, perhaps that Ian would joke with him in such a way, and maybe Ian  _ had _ overstepped his bounds.  He opened his mouth to apologize, but the Commander’s smile went wry.  “I don’t know, it is awfully tempting.”

“You  _ do _ have a sense of humor!”  Ian couldn’t seem to stop himself from exclaiming.  “Next thing I know Cassandra will be reciting poetry!”

Cassandra huffed and started stalking off, leaving Ian to jog to catch up in her wake.  “Do not get your hopes up.”

 

____

 

Things could have continued on like that forever, but when they were less than a day outside Lothering, things took a turn for the worse.

“Enchantment!” Was the only warning they got when the attack came.  One moment they were trudging through the soggy Ferelden countryside, and in the next an unnatural screech echoed through the hills.  Creatures bathed in green light beset them, spooking the horses as well as the travellers.  

Dorian almost didn’t have time to cast a barrier before the figures were sending bolts of  _ something _ at them.  “Quick!  Get down!” he ordered the terrified merchants.  The creatures weren’t anything Dorian had ever encountered in the waking world.  These were the demons that Adrian’s letter warned them of.  Why couldn’t it have been bandits?

Fighting was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.  Their screeches chilled Dorian to the bone.  It had been a long time since Dorian had found himself in a situation where he truly feared for his life, but that didn’t stop him from swinging his staff into his hands to cast off spells as fast as he was able.  His first few spells barely phased the creatures, but a well timed lightning spell halted their advance.

Well, never let it be said that he wasn’t a quick learner.

Dorian’s lightning arched between the creatures, halting their casting long enough for Dorian to get another barrier raised.  He risked a glance at the merchants to gauge their safety, to find Bohdan pointing to something in the distance.

After another strong lightning spell, Doran followed the dwarf’s finger, and what he found gave him pause.  It was of the likes of  _ nothing _ that Dorian had ever even conceived of, and he’d been involved in some rather experimental magic before things went tits up again.  A green, crystalline object floated there.  It twisted and pulsed as if it were alive, and Dorian was willing to wager that this was one of the so called Rifts.  If that was what was allowing the demons to come through to the mortal plane, then they needed to get the caravan away from it.

“We need to move,” he yelled to the rest of the people cowering behind him.  “I can’t hold them off forever, and as we’re near that  _ thing _ , I’d say there will always be more!”

“We can’t leave the merchandise,” one of the Merchants yelled.

Dorian scoffed.  “Then take it with you, I don’t care, but I’m not hanging around to be eaten by a wraith!”  He didn’t think the demons would actually eat them, but Dorian wasn’t going to test that theory either.

Speaking of, the wraiths seemed to be never ending, and the constant casting was beginning to take its toll.  Dorian raised a third barrier and tried to ignore the fatigue.  He was better than that.  The barrier bought the others the time they needed to get the caravan moving.  They were moving at a snail’s pace, but it was better than nothing.  Dorian just needed to finish off the wraiths already upon them, and they might even make a clean getaway before he got too sloppy.

Famous last words.  A wraith broke through the barrier, and a claw nearly grazed Dorian’s face before he slammed his staff into the thing.  It screeched once more before dissolving into nothing.  Dorian took a moment to be comforted by the fact that the demons  _ could _ be killed before he put everything he had into a final spell.  Purple light overpowered the green glow from the creatures as the lightning arched between them and left nothing but ash in its wake.  

He took one step backwards, and then another.  The rift continued to pulse and grow even as it faded into the distance.  Only once it was out of sight, did Dorian lower his staff and begin to relax.

Dorian didn’t have time to draw breath before something slammed into his side.  He opened his mouth to cast again, but he caught sight of dirty blonde hair, and realized that it was his little annoyances’ mother.

“Thank you,” she cried as she attempted to squeeze out what little life he had left.  “Thank the Maker.”

This might have been the most awkward moment of his life.  Dorian gave the woman comforting pat then peeled her arms from around him.  There were no dogs in the party, but somehow Dorian felt she still smelled of it.  Fereldens.  “It’s what you brought me along for.”

He stumbled a little as his exhaustion made itself known, then shook his head in an attempt to clear it.  “We..we should have someone scout ahead.”

When no one answered him, Dorian looked up.  They were all, save Sandal and Jowan, staring back at the distant green haze with looks of horror.  “Oh, for the  _ Maker’s sake.   _ Bohdan!” He barked out to get the dwarf’s attention.  “We need to keep going, and we need someone to scout ahead.  We were  _ lucky _ , take it from me, as far as demons go, wraiths were far from the worst thing that Rift  _ could _ have spit out.”

Bohdan snapped out of it and gave Dorian a sharp nod.  “Right you are, Messere.  Warden Commander Stone warned me there could be demons on the road, but hearing about them and seeing them are two different things.”

Dorian silently agreed with that assessment.  Seeing demons in the flesh, was unsettling to say the least.  He wasn’t looking forward to repeating the experience, but was intelligent enough to know that he would have to.

Little Adrian’s father volunteered for the scouting duty, and jogged on ahead of the group.  His wife kept Little Adrian cuddled into her arms, and for once, the boy took no issue.  He kept his face buried into his mother’s neck as they resumed walking, and though Dorian found himself missing the child’s rambling in the subdued silence that fell over them, he didn’t blame Little Adrian either.

Dorian rather wished  _ his _ mother was there to hug him as well.

_____

 

With the Herald gone, things were deteriorating in Haven.  It seemed that they had their one moment of goodwill, and now everyone was back to hating each other.  Cullen wanted to ignore it; he was busy enough without trying to play mediator, but something had to change.  He also had a sinking feeling who was behind the current unrest.

The Inquisition was still working out of the back from of the Chantry, despite the protests of Chancellor Roderick.  The sisters were torn between following the orders of the Right and Left hands of the late devine, and those of the highest ranking member of the Clergy within Haven.  They stayed out of the Inquisitions way, but Cullen could hear the whispers every time he passed on his way to the back room or Josephine’s office. 

Chancellor Roderick himself was mysteriously absent from Haven.  Cullen wanted to think that they’d seen the last of him, but he had a feeling it wasn’t so.

“Knight Captain!  Something must be done about these apostates!”  

Cullen sighed.  This wasn’t the first time he’d heard this argument from the few Templars that were trickling into the town to lend their aid to the Inquisition’s banner.  It came up every time another mage sought refuge for the same reasons.  “I’ve told you not to call me that, Lysette.  I renounced my ties to the Order, as you are already well aware.  I’m thankful that you and the others chose to stay on, but I can’t be the Knight Captain for you; not anymore.”  

His mantle went a long way to hide the way his shoulders slumped, but Lysette’s didn’t do the same.  “You are still  _ a  _ Commander,” she pressed on.  “And you know something must be done.”

“There’s nothing to do for now.  Be watchful, but things aren’t the way they were before.  They can’t be that way anymore.  We need to find a-- I--- yes?”

To say Cullen was grateful for the interruption was an understatement.  The turn of conversation was an uncomfortable one, and Cullen wasn’t able to put his feelings on the subject into words with any sort of coherence.  James was a nervous looking agent of Leliana’s that ended up in Cullen’s service more often than not.  “Forgive the interruption, Commander, but Lady Leliana requests your presence in the Chantry.  She’s had word from Seeker Pentaghast”

“Thank you, Agent.  Lysette?  We will finish this conversation later.  For now, take over running squad four through their drills.”  Jim scurried off, but Lysette seemed reluctant to give up her hold on Cullen’s attention so soon.

“But--”

“Now, please.”

Her face scrunched up in distaste but, Lysette saluted Cullen then turned to follow his orders all the same.  She was young, and Ferelden, through and through, but still as loyal as they came.  Cullen remembered what it was like to have his entire world shaken while barely more than a recruit.  She was clinging to the last lessons taught to her for solace, just as Cullen had, but he wouldn’t allow her to continue on down his path.  

Cullen heaved a sigh of relief then started up the path towards the Chantry. She was right in the fact that something needed to be done, but not the why.  A day hadn’t passed where the sounds of the mages and templars squabbling couldn’t be heard from the town’s walls.  Cullen wasn’t sure what the answer to all of it was, but attempting to revert to the old ways would do nothing but cause open warfare.

They had bigger things to worry about.

“Cullen, you got my message.”  Leliana was waiting for him in the makeshift war room with a package of parchments in her hands.

“I did.  The runner said you had word from Cassandra?”

“I did,” Leliana echoed.  “ _ And _ there is a note addressed to you; from the Herald.”

Cullen blinked at the parchment Leliana held out for him.  She smiled, amused, and shook the sheet until Cullen reached out and took it.  He did so, all the while wondering what could be so important that the Herald would need to address him personally.

He unfolded the letter and read;

 

_ Commander, _

_ We’ve arrived at the Crossroads safely, for the second time, after having toured what felt like the entire region.  My feet will never forgive me.  We encountered three Rifts along the way and I made it through with only a minor scratch, so I must be putting your training to good use. _

_ Mother Giselle has already left for Haven.  Cassandra will have more on the information she was able to give us, but, whatever it is she saw in me, it was enough for her to pledge herself to our cause, despite the Chantry’s views.  We only spoke for a few moments, but I’ve never felt so judged, and I did the walk of shame through Haven while everyone believed I murdered the Divine. _

_ But let me get to the point.  While Horsemaster Dennet has supplied our current party with horses, he is reluctant to pledge his support to the Inquisition while there is still so much unrest in the area.  We’ve found that most that would support us feel the same.  I don’t blame them.  The fighting between the mages and templars have torn the area apart. _

_ Oh, right.  The Horsemaster. _

_ We’re staying another few days to take care of what we can, but we require assistance with one of his tasks.  Enclosed with our package is a map with places marked for watchtowers.  Materials have been left for the buildings, but we require men to do the work.  Please send those you think are best suited to the task, and with a little lucky our troops will be mounted before the end of the month! _

__ __ __ __ __ _ Thank you for your assistance, _

__ __ __ __ __ _ Ian Trevelyan _

 

“He rambles while giving a report.  We’ll have to work on that.”  Cullen scanned the note a second time then set the parchment aside.  “Otherwise, he requests builders for watchtowers in the Hinterlands.”

“Interesting.  Cassandra writes only that we should expect new arrivals, and that they’ve agreed to aid the refugees in the Hinterlands.  She’s included orders for Josie and myself based on information given by Mother Giselle.”  Leliana reached out and took Cullen’s letter to scan for herself.  He didn’t even attempt to stop her; he valued his fingers more than his privacy.

“The work will help draw people to is, once it becomes more publicly known that we do not have the Chantry’s sanction,” he mused as he began to plot out what it would take to get the watchtowers built by the end of the month.  “Meanwhile, what should we do about the situation here in Haven?”

Leliana hummed as she spread the crude map of the Hinterlands down on the table.  “Continue as you have been  I know that playing peacekeeper isn’t easy on you, but doing so is keeping the fire off of Josie so she can concentrate more on Ferelden and Orlais.”

It wasn’t the answer that Cullen was looking for, but he would take it, and have to deal with it.  “To work then,” he sighed as he stared down at the map.  It wasn’t actually that horrible of a sketch, and Cullen was surprised to note the Herald’s signature in the bottom corner.  Assuming the materials were where the Herald said they were, the towers wouldn’t be that much trouble to build.  Perhaps Lysette would like to lead one of the building teams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I'm sorry this chapter is so late. I was down most of last week with a headache, and it sapped my will to work. Better late than never though, right?
> 
> Cullen's being a little difficult to write right now. Of the three of them, I think he's got the most baggage, for the moment anyway. Hopefully I'm striking that area where his former ideals are changing, but he doesn't really know what he wants his new ideals to be yet.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, reviewing, leaving kudos and all the things. <3 I can be found on tumblr @ mostlyharmlessgaming. I don't bite. I promise.
> 
> Next Chapter!
> 
> Ian bonds with Varric, Dorian FINALLY arrives in Redcliffe, and Cullen is about two steps away from a breakdown.


	6. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I lied in the description of the chapter last week:
> 
> Ian has a bath then a mental breakdown, Dorian arrives and Redcliffe, and Cullen gets a grim reminder of his duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the death of a child in Cullen's section.

**Chapter Six**

 

Val Royeaux.  After weeks of puttering around the Ferelden countryside, it seemed particularly opulent.  He was surrounded by gilded everything, but Ian was just glad for the fair weather and the lack of mud.

It was unfortunate that a lack of mud didn’t mean a lack of trouble.  

Their meeting with the Chantry Sisters started with accusations then went downhill from there. The ensuing meeting with the templars went even worse.  They weren’t even able to get word in edgewise between Seeker Lucius’ monologuing.  All that effort, and the Chantry was no closer to confirming the Inquisition  _ and  _ the remaining templars walked off into the sunset.  Things were to the point that Ian awaited the party he was supposed to attend that evening with a sense of dread-- and Ian loved parties.

On top of it all, he was  _ sore. _

“You will grow used to it,” Cassandra reassured him as they settled into the rooms she’d let for the night.  It was a nice change from camping, at the least.  “And for what it’s worth, you handled yourself well.”

“I’m already used to be talked down at, if that’s what you mean,” Ian huffed as he kicked his pack into a corner. He resisted the urge to touch anything else in the room lest he cover it in dirt.  “Well would have gotten us the Chanty’s support; or at least the templar’s.”

“I meant the muscle strain,” Cassandra drawled in return.  “And I did not say that it went well, only that you handled yourself well.  There are many who would have lost their tempers under such circumstances.”

“Yourself included,” Varric added as he sank into a plush armchair.  “These are nice digs, a dwarf could get used to this.  Certainly better than camping.”

“Don’t,” Cassandra bit out, but didn’t argue the point about her temper.  “I’m going to go send Leliana an update on our situation.”  She stalked towards the door, only to pause and turn back towards Ian.  “You should take the time to clean up.  The bath should help with the soreness.”

“Give the Nightingale my regards,” Varric called after her as she left.  “She loves me, really.”

“Enough to kill you in your sleep, or at least hers,” Solas quipped from where he was browsing a small bookshelf.  The room came with everything, it seemed.

“It’s a special kind of romance.”

Ian shook his head and held back laughter as he sorted through his pack for his cleanest pair of smallclothes.  They’d been on the road long enough that the pickings were slim, and perhaps he should have asked Cassandra to buy him something other than his armor to wear that night.  It was too late now, so the clothing he had would have to do.  Ian left Varric and Solas bickering between themselves and closed himself in the bathing chamber.

That the room had it’s own bathing chamber at all was a luxury that Ian hadn’t expected, considering that Cassandra was the one who purchased the rooms.  She’d insisted on camping the entire way from Haven, even when there were alternatives available.  Still, if this room was what she was saving their limited funds for, then Ian was thankful.  The bathtub appeared more than large enough to hold him, unlike the cramped tubs in Haven.

It even came outfitted with a system of dwarven runes, that Ian was lucky enough to be familiar with, so he wouldn’t have to call a servant to fill it.  He set the tub to fill with hot water, then went to work on stripping himself of his armor.

“Sweet Maker,” Ian cursed under his breath as he lowered himself down into the water.  “I take back every nasty thing I’ve ever said about Orlesians.”  He sank down beneath the surface and relaxed as the heat enveloped him.  The sensation of being surrounded on all sides was so soothing, that it was a disappointment when Ian’s lungs began to burn with the need for air.

He broke the surface with a gasp, then relaxed against the back of the tub.  “Best be careful,” Ian cautioned himself.  “The last thing you want to is to be known as is  _ The Herald of Andraste: Drowned himself in an Orlesian bathtub. _ ”  He could see his tombstone already.

Joking aside, Ian didn’t have the time to relax for too long.  He had days worth of sweat and grime to work away at, and if he wanted his hair to be dry by the time he was expected at the party, he needed to get things done.  

The Inn’s proprietor supplied an obscene amount of sweet-smelling liquids and soaps that were lined up within arms reach of the tub.  Ian smelled each before deciding on a soap and getting to work.  He scrubbed the soap into his hair first, then continued on down the length of his body.  The water turned murky as the grime was washed away, and Cassandra was right; the heat of the water did help ease the ache in his muscles.

Ian let the water drain from his tub, then turned the faucet back on to rinse the soap from his hair.  Once it was free of suds, he shut the water off and wrung the heavy mass out the best that he could.  It was be a right pain in the arse until it dried, but only time, and a bit of work with his comb could help with that.

He dried off then shrugged on the supplied dressing gown before leaving the bathing chamber.

Only Varric remained in the room, still curled up in the armchair with a book.  He looked up at Ian and grinned.  “Look who’s so clean he damn near shines, but still somehow manages to resemble a drowned rodent.  I don’t know how you manage that rat’s nest.”

Ian grinned in return.  “Want to braid it for me?”  He rummaged around in his back for his comb, then after finding it, sat across from Varric.

“You’re asking the wrong dwarf.”

“Oh right,” Ian mused.  “You’ve no beard to practice it on, but surely elsewhere?”  They shared a bit of a laugh at that, but something niggled at Ian.  This wasn’t the first time as of late that someone had brought up the length and rather untamable nature of his hair.  “The Commander said I should cut it, and I suppose that would be the safe thing to do, but I just can’t.”

Ian had no idea why he was telling any of this to Varric, but the dwarf was listening.  He let the book drop into his lap and leaned forward as Ian rambled on.  “It’s..I’ve given up so much of what I was to become this..mascot, which yes, it wasn’t like the things I’ve given up were particularly good ones, but they were all I had.   _ Maker, _ the last person to call me by my given name was my  _ father _ before I left home.

“But even I don’t feel like Ian anymore.  Ian was a drunk and a letcher and a waste of space and all sorts of things the Herald of Andraste can’t be.  Everything has changed so quickly, and I feel like, if I give in, and cut my hair, if I look in the mirror I would have no idea who was looking back at me.  At least now, I still  _ look _ like Ian, and that’s all I have left.”

Ian became aware that he was shaking, and could see Varric growing more and more concerned as he continued.  The dwarf put a marker in his book and set it aside.  “It’’s not stupid kid, I--”

“Kid?” Ian interrupted, his voice taking on a tinge of hysteria.  “I’m in my thirties!”

Varric ignored him.  “Sounds to me like you’ve done a lot of growing up within the past month, not to mention you’ve been through one hell of an experience.  You do know that it’s okay, if you’re not okay, right?  Hold on to whatever you need to keep yourself sane, because take it from me, shit’s likely to get worse from here on out.”

Ian tightened his grip on his comb to stop the shaking, and began to work it through his hair to give his hands something to do.  He tried not to think too hard on the flashes of memory he had from his stroll through the Fade.  The sense of terror made his sleep uneasy, but at least he tended to have more pertinent things to worry about while awake that kept his focus in the present.

Like bears.  Fucking bears.

“I still feel silly.   _ Ian _ wasn’t worth clinging to.  That was the whole point of changing.”

“Stop,” Varric ordered in a hard tone that surprised Ian.  “Stop thinking of yourself in the past tense.  You’re still Ian; perhaps the new and improved version, but you are still you.  There’s no before or after.  There’s just who you are now.  Be the best you that you can be, but while we’re on the subject, stop with that trying to please everyone thing.  Cassandra’s not going to kick you out because one little negotiation doesn’t go as planned.”

Ian couldn't help but crack a smile at that.  “No, she would have kicked you out by now if that were true.”

Varric shared in his mirth.  “It’s not for lack of trying.”

A tough snag drew Ian’s attention back to the task at hand.  He worked the comb through it and sighed.  “I just don’t want to fail.”

“No one ever does,” Varric drawled.  “And I won’t lie to you kid, the stakes are high on this one, but at the rate you’re going now, you’ll burn yourself out, and I don’t want to see that happen.  Not again.”

Ian knew about Varric’s relationship with the Champion of Kirkwall;  _ everyone _ did, but the look on Varric’s face made him stop and wonder, how much truth there was to the tale that got passed around.  The book made it all seem like a grand adventure, though at times a painful one, but somehow Ian got the idea that perhaps there was more between the words that Varric hadn’t put down onto paper.

It was the look in his eyes that did it.  Ian had noticed a similar look to The commander and Leliana both, when they thought no one else was looking.  He wondered how long it would be before he sported that thousand-yard stare himself.

“Me?  Burn out?  Not with you around to keep me grounded.”  It did not, perhaps, come out as confident as Ian wanted.

Varric’s own demeanor crumbled further.  “You’re not the first person to tell me that, you know,” the dwarf explained with a rueful smile.  “Not too sure I did a great job of it then, but I suppose it won’t stop me from having your back now.”

Ian smiled in return, then winced as he hit another snag.  He worked it out, then set the comb aside.  His hair was as good as it was going to get until it dried.  “I appreciate it, and thanks, for uhm trying to talk some sense into me.”

“Anytime,” Varric answered, and to Ian it sounded like a promise.  He pushed up from the chair and stretched out.  “But for now, I think I’ll head down to the tavern and see if I can’t talk a few drunk nobles into a hand or two of Wicked Grace.”

Perhaps now, they both just needed a little time and distraction to get their heads back in the present.  Still, Ian felt lighter for getting it all off his chest.  He could face the party, and his audience with Madame Le Fer now.  Well, once he got his armor back on.  Ian was trying for  _ less _ scandalous behaviour, after all.  “All right.  I’ll stay here and finish cleaning up.  Win something pretty for me!”

“For you?  Only the prettiest,” Varric laughed as he headed out the door.  The mirth only sounded a little forced.  “Watch your back at that party, yeah?”

 

_________

 

There was something rotten in Redcliffe.

After weeks of travel, all Dorian wanted was to settle down in the tavern, have a few drinks, and await Alexius and Felix’s arrival.  That, however, wasn’t meant to be because somehow, Alexius and Felix were already there, and had been for some time.  They weren’t alone either.  They’d brought an entire entourage with them.

Something just felt off about the town and Dorian couldn’t put his finger on it.  The feeling made him cautious, so Instead of being welcomed into his mentor’s arms, Dorian found himself skulking around the town like a common criminal, looking for any scrap of information he could find.  

“Who do those mages think they are?” One woman hissed as Dorian passed.  “First they invite those  _ slavers _ here, and now they want to force  _ us _ out?”

“I heard they already sent Arl Teagan running to Denerim.  I’m of half a mind to follow, demons and all.  Better than staying here under  _ their _ rule.”

He slipped back into the shadows after that.  It was clear that the villagers couldn’t tell any difference between Dorian and the other Tevinter mages that were residing within the city, though that wasn’t much of a blessing.  The Fereldens looked at him with open contempt, and the rebel mages with distrust and fear.  Whatever decisions had been made to welcome the Tevinter delegation into Redcliffe, it was clear that the decision had been at the top, and those at the bottom weren’t quite so pleased with the new alliance.

The distrust made it hard to find a way to contact Felix without revealing his presence.  Alexius was tied up in something that looked and felt worse the more time Dorian spent in Redcliffe, he refused to believe that Felix might be just as entrenched.  It took him three days to convince a servant to take a note into the castle, then another two before he heard anything in return.

Dorian arrived at the meeting place behind the Chantry early and concealed himself in the shadows cast by the building to wait for Felix.  He didn’t have to wait long.  Felix arrived right on time and sussed out Dorian’s hiding place as easy as he had when they were younger.  “Dorian, it really is you.  I know I wrote but I never hoped--”

“Of course I followed,” Dorian drawled as he stepped out of the shadows and into Felix’s embrace.  After traveling through Ferelden and the Free Marches alone, being so close to his friend was a bit like home away from home.  It hadn’t occurred to him until this very moment how much he  _ missed _ Tevinter.

This close he could also feel the tremors that wrecked Felix’s body.  Dorian gave the other man a light squeeze then stepped back.  “Well, you’re here in once piece, but I’m still the handsome one.”

“You’ll always be the more handsome one,” Felis bit back with a strained smile.  “I’m glad you came, but Dorian, we must be careful.  Things are so much worse than I thought.”

That was worrying.  Felix wasn’t prone to exaggeration or naysaying.  “Worse than dragging you across Orlais?  Worse than joining a cult?”

Felix scoffed and shook his head.  “He won’t tell me anything--just says that he Elder One will take care of it all.  They..they killed the Tranquil, Dorian.”

Dorian thought, for a moment of Jowan; quiet, impassive, and hopefully safe in Lothering with Bohdan and Sandal, then slid down the wall behind him to sit on the ground.  Felix followed his example, and it was almost as if they were teenagers again, hiding behind Alexius’ manor and sharing a drink, but this time Felix was the one who looked ill.  “The Elder One?  No, wait.  Start at the beginning.  How  _ did  _ the two of you beat me here by taking the land path?”

“We  _ were _ traveling the land path, but Father received a letter and he became obsessed.  We had to arrive before the Inquisition and nothing would stop him from doing so.”  Felix dropped his head back against the stone wall and looked up at the sky.  “He used the spells you created--”

“Time manipulation?  But those spells were unstable!  Did he find a way to solve the--”

“No,” Felix interrupted Dorian before he could get to far down the intellectual rabbit hole.  “We arrived unharmed, but the spell has spilled over into the town.  Tell me you’ve felt it.”

That would explain the unsettling feeling that Dorian had been crediting to the proximity of the Rift outside the town’s gates.  Demons knocking on the door were enough to make anyone feel unsettled.  “I felt  _ something _ , but I never expected  _ those _ spells to be the culprit. Pity that I don’t have time to examine the aftereffects.”

Felix frowned and bumped his shoulder against Dorian’s.  “I can always trust you to get distracted by theoretical magic, but you might get your chance to study it closer.”

“Oh between talking sense into your father and bundling us back off to Tevinter before the Magisterium realizes we’ve gone?”   


“Worried about  _ your _ father finding out?”  Felix looked more concerned than curious.

“Don’t change the subject,” Dorian bit out, perhaps a little harsher than was warranted.  “Who is this Elder one, and why are the rebel mages so important to him?”

Felix didn’t take offense because he rarely did, and Dorian felt all the more guilty for it.  His friend was already bearing the brunt of his father’s desperation and bad choices, he didn’t need to deal with Dorian’s misplaced ire as well.  He shrugged as he continued to look up at the sky.  “More things that he won’t tell me. He says I look ill and orders me to get more rest whenever I ask questions.”

“You do look like you need the rest,” Dorian observed.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Felix bit back.  “And my death  _ is _ coming whether you and father want to accept it or not.  I’m ready, but I want to make my peace, and I can’t do that while father is betraying every principle he has.”

“Then I’ll talk to him,” Dorian replied.  “Perhaps if someone reasonable speaks to him instead of these  _ cultists,  _ he’ll realize how insane this all is.”

But Felix didn’t seem to agree.  “Not yet.  He’s constantly surrounded by the other Venatori.  They’re plotting something to trap the Herald of Andraste.”

Dorian blinked.  Now that was new.  Adrian’s letter had made mention of the Inquisition but nothing of this Herald.  “The Herald of Andraste?”

Felix blinked right back at him and flashed Dorian a bit of a sly smile.  “Where  _ have  _ you been?  There was a survivor of the explosion at the Conclave.  They say he walked out of the Fade, and yes, Dorian,” Felix huffed and headed off Dorian’s next question.  “Physically.  The Venatori, and therefore father, are very interested in him.”

“I’d say a lot of people are.  Did the Venatori have anything to do with said explosion?”  Dorian prayed for a negative answer.  He didn’t know if he could look Alexius in they eye when they did talk, if he had.

“The Venatori?  Perhaps, but father and I were still in Orlais when it happened.  He seemed just as surprised at the news as everyone else.  I gather, that the explosion was not part of their plan, whatever the actual plan is.”

Dorian let out a long exhale.  It wasn’t conductive proof, but he’d take it.  “So, we’re going to let his Herald walk into the trap?”

For the first time that evening, Felix broke into a true smile.  “Well, you see, I was hoping you’d help me with that.”

 

_______

 

_ Kirkwall is burning. Hawke is gone, Orsino is dead, and Meredith..there's no time to think about Meredith. Thinking about Meredith leads to thinking about his own faults and failures. Kirkwall is on fire, and now isn't the time for self reflection. _

“ _ You! Get something to douse these flames. If we act quickly we can save the homes at the ends of the alley.” The templars behind him give a choppy salute then turn to jog down the street. He looks back at the flames in dismay. They're spreading too fast. His men aren't going to be back in time. _

“ _ Help me! Please!” A small voice rings out through the sound of crackling timber and his head whips around to find the source. There, wedged under a heavy beam, half-hidden in the smoke is a little girl with wide panicked eyes and a soot-streaked face. “It hurts!” _

_ He drops to his knees and reaches through the debris. There's a beam that keeps him from getting too close, but he tries anyway. “Take my hands,” he yells over the noise, but she doesn't seem to hear him. _

_ Her eyes widen at the sight of him, and despite all logic, she pulls away and moves further into the flames. “No! Help,” she cries out again in a hoarse scream. _

“ _ I'm trying” he curses and shimmies forward. He's desperate to get to her. He can feel the heat of the fire this close. It stings his skin, but he's not going to give up. No one else is going to die on his watch. Not today. He stretches and strains, then just for a moment his fingers close around her shoulder. _

_ Several things seem to happen at once. Another wave of fire bursts forward. It catches on the beam that smolders for a moment then seems to explode. He flinches back as heat and splinters tear at his skin. A large piece of something catches him in his upper lip and rends the skin. The sharp pain comes as a shock, and he loses his grip. _

_ There's no natural explanation for the beam exploding so, save one. The girl is a mage, and she is more terrified of him than she is of burning to death. _

_ He's not ready to give up. He rears back and his clumsy fingers begin working at the stays of his armor, but he's moving too slow. The building gives an ominous creak, and he can scarce breathe for the smoke. _

_ Where is that water? _

_ The building groans again, and he abandons his quest to make himself appear less threatening. Blood is flowing into his mouth from his torn lip, but the taste of copper keeps him grounded. If he concentrates on the taste, then he have time to worry about the burning in his lungs. He's only managed to remove his bracers, despite his haste, and he can only hope that it's enough. _

_ The child has stopped wailing, but he can still hear her wheezing breath, and make out the outline of her form through the smoke. He has one last try at this, and if he fails, then he will die with her. He crawls forward once more on his stomach and stretches his arms forward until his shoulders ache. _

“ _ Please, just let me save you,” he pleads, his own voice going hoarse. The smoke may be thinner near the ground, but it isn't absent, and it's affecting them both. _

_ She whines and curls in on herself as the building begins to collapse on them both. _

“ _ Please,” he begs again with his hands open towards her. All he needs for is to take it. _

_ Their luck runs out. He watches in horror as the flames catch the edge of her dress. He reaches again. He can still save her, but then there are hand on his legs, and suddenly he is being dragged backwards out of the building and through the dirt. _

“ _ No,” he screams, though it comes out as little more than a hoarse whisper. He locks eyes with the girl, but he can only watch with horror as the building falls down between them. _

_ She doesn't scream again. _

Cullen awoke, his skin burning as if he were on fire and with tears in his eyes. He rolled onto his side as he gagged on the bile in his throat and continued to weep. Of all the dreams that his mind could conjure to torture him, that was one of the worst. The girl's eyes continue to haunt him as a reminder of his spectacular failure.

She was another innocent death on his watch, and he never even learned her name.

His nightmares were always bad, but the lack of lyrium was making them worse. The memory was so vivid that it was as if he was back in Kirkwall, forever doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again.

He could  _ taste _ the smell of burning flesh.

He gagged again and reached for the pitcher of water he kept at his bedside. Gulp after gulp, Cullen drank from the pitcher itself until the taste was gone from his mouth. The water settled heavy in his stomach, but no heavier than the memories that played through his mind.

Cullen licked his chapped lips and held his head in his hand. One might argue that far more horrific things had happened in Kirkwall than the death of one child, but the needlessness of it had been the final straw for Cullen. It got more difficult to put on his armor after that, until the day came that Cullen stopped wearing it at all.

Now, the only pieces of that set of armor that remained were the bracers that he dug from the rubble once the flames were extinguished. He'd recovered the girl's body as well, what was left of it, and what little good it did. She wasn't supposed to die.

With a sigh, Cullen flopped back onto his furs. “I will make it through this,” he whispered to himself as he tried to marshal his emotions. “They deserve better than me.”

No mage deserved to burn to death because roaring flames were less frightening than the templar trying to save them. The soldiers deserved a seasoned commander at their head. The Herald deserved an advisor that wasn't driven to physical sickness under the weight of his own well-deserved guilt.

They deserved better, but they had Cullen, and he would  _ not _ let the events of Kirkwall happen again.

Except, he wasn't being very proactive about it was he?

By putting of Lysette's concerns and not addressing the growing tension between the templars and mages within Haven, he was fostering the sort environment that could lead to trouble. The infighting was limited to petty bickering so far, but just like fire, arguments could grow out of control within the blink of an eye.

With that thought in mind, Cullen pushed himself back up and began the arduous task of readying himself for the day. He couldn't feel the heat of the flames any longer, but he was filled with a new kind of urgency. He ignored the lingering aches and put on his armor piece by piece.

Almost belatedly, Cullen remembered to pour what remained of the water into his basin and scrub the tear tracks from his face.

It was hard, but Cullen forced himself into action just as he did every other morning, and dawn was just brightening the sky when he exited his tent. Soldiers were already filling the practice yards, and he gave them a pleased nod as he passed by.

Finding a runner was easy enough, as Leliana was just as eager to greet the day as Cullen pretended to be. “I want the mages and templars currently in residence to meet me in front of the Chantry at mid-day. All of them. Non negotiable. We're going to put an end to this infighting and stand as one, even if it kills me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this week was delayed because I wasn't happy with the Dorian section of the fic. Of the three he's the hardest for me to write, and I think I'm still trying to find the balance between his bravado and inner-voice. 
> 
> In better news, this closes out the first arc of the story! I'm excited to be moving on to the next part.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you all continue to enjoy the story! 
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @ mostlyharmlessgaming
> 
> Next Chapter: In Hushed Whispers


	7. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New friends, plans, and a dangerous confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: In Hushed Whispers

Dorian got his chance to study the after effects of Alexius’ spell.  It was all quite genius.  Alexius tapped into the power of the rift to solve the the issue they’d had powering the spells.  Years of work and studying brought from the theoretical to the practical, and all due to a convenient dimensional split.  It was unfortunate that accessing that power had the end result of tearing the fabric of reality apart, though it  _ could _ be argued that the Breach was doing that all in it’s own.

Were he not in hiding, Dorian might have been able to find a way to stabilize it, but as such, the most he could do was experiment with the localized time fields that appeared around the rifts.  The Chantry proved to be an ideal place for his work, as it was out of his way, abandoned, and full of demons.  It was like killing two birds with one stone really; study the time fields  _ and _ the rifts.

There had to be a way to close them.  Rumor had it that the Inquisition, and it’s Herald of Andraste, had found a way, so if one mage managed it, why not another?  So far, Dorian was having significantly less luck on that front, but he was getting rather proficient at killing demons.

He was clearing out the demons from his refuge when his solitude was intruded on by a party of four.  Dorian might have been cross about that, had Felix not warned him earlier that day that the Inquisition had appeared in Redcliffe at long last.  “A little help, if you please?”

The group made quick work of the remaining demons, then the only human male of the party held up his hand.  This must be the famed Herald.  Dorian waited for the spell that would close the rift, but there was none.  Without any prompting at all, a bolt of green light arched between the man’s palm and the rift.  A low hum that made the hair on Dorian’s arms stand on end filled the air and grew in frequency.  It grew and grew, setting Dorian’s teeth on edge, until it reached a breaking point, and the rift  _ shattered _ into nothing.

“Fascinating,” he exclaimed.  “How does that work exactly?”  Blank looks.  “You don’t even know, do you?  You just wriggle your fingers and boom; rift closes.”

Without the rift, the light in the Chantry was middling at best, but that didn’t stop Dorian from getting a good look at the man who pissed off an entire cult just by existing.  To Dorian’s surprise, he didn’t appear to be a mage at all.  He carried, if not a bit awkwardly, a sword and shield, and was dressed in functional heavy plate that accentuated the broadness of his shoulders.  Still, he was a bit chubby about the face, even if he stood taller than Dorian himself, had a spattering of freckles over his cheeks, and a messy of wavy brown hair that hung below his shoulders.

Not what Dorian expected at all, after hearing the rumors.  This was no warrior-mage descended from the heavens.  He was easy enough on the eyes, but had the look of a man who was out of his depth and knew it.  Poor bastard.

“Who are you,” the man asked of him, and Dorian smiled.

“Getting ahead of myself again, I see.  Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.  How do you do?”

______

 

“So you followed us home.  You could have asked, you know.”  Ian shook his head as he left the Haven Chantry with  _ Dorian of House Pavus  _ in tow.  Planning to return to Redcliffe  _ again _ was underway, but all Ian had to do for the moment was perhaps get a bite to eat and get to know the Tevinter mage that had seemingly popped up out of nowhere.

Dorian laughed, a pleasant sound, and smirked at Ian.  “What?  And ruin my dramatic entrance?”  

“It was dramatic.  I’ll give you that,” Ian drawled with a softer smile in return.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he was making the right choice.  The situation with the mages was now more complicated than anyone could have guessed, but they couldn’t just leave Redcliffe under Tevinter control, could they?  Ferelden politics aside, it would leave an enemy right at their doorsteps.  Perhaps Cullen was right though, and they should go court the templars instead.

Somehow, Ian didn’t think that dealing with Lord Seeker Lucius would be any easier than dealing with Magister Alexius.

“Oh, you’ll give me that, will you?”  Dorian leered in his direction.  “What else will you give me?”

He’d had the feeling that Dorian was flirting with him from the moment they first locked eyes in Redcliffe, but that was a bit more overt than Ian expected.  He took it into stride.  “A warm meal, if you’ll join me.”

Dorian must have found that agreeable enough, as he followed Ian to the mess line, and then to the low wall near Varric’s tent.  Ian liked taking his meals there.  If Varric was around, more often than not, the dwarf would join him, otherwise, it was an out of the way spot with few people to stare at him as he ate.  Dorian sat down next to him and frowned at the stew in his bowl.  “When you said meal, I was expecting something edible.”

“It is,” Ian laughed as he shoved a forkful into his mouth.  “Just try not to keep it in your mouth too long.”

It spoke to how surreal Ian’s life was getting that he was able to sit next to a Tevinter magister and eat a meal of Ferelden Grey Stew like it was normal.  He wasn’t sure if he even trusted Dorian.  The mage had a habit of popping up at just the right moment, besides, how trustworthy could someone who followed them back to Haven instead of just asking to join them be?

They needed him though.  Dorian had only been in town a few hours, and he had already supplied invaluable information about just what it was that they were facing.

“Don’t look so long in the face,” Dorian quipped after forcing himself to swallow around a mouthful of mush.  “We’re getting ready to storm the castle!”

Ian took another bite from his own meal, and reminded himself that it was better than nothing.  “It’s more like sneak into the castle while dangling my lily white arse on a string.”  If only Logan could see him now.  After everything else, Ian still held out hope.

Dorian set his bowl aside and leaned back against his hands; somehow graceful even when sitting on the ground.  “Well, I do admit that bait isn’t perhaps the most dignified of positions, it is a necessary one.”

“Dignity is the last thing I’m worried about,” Ian chuckled as he kicked his heels against the wall. “I’ve been widely told that I don’t have any, though I suppose it’s comforting that the tales of Ian Trevelyan, waste of space and disappointment to all haven’t reached as far as Tevinter.  I’ll be sure to rub it in my father’s face should I see him again.

Dorian looked a bit startled at the mention of Ian’s father, or it could have been his tone while Ian was speaking of him, but after a blink the expression was replaced by the sly smile that Ian was beginning to associate with the man.  “We’re quite the pair then,” he drawled.  “It sounds as if you must have some interesting stories.”

“I do, but none that can be told in polite company.”  Ian was attempting to be circumspect about it, as part of his new turning a new leaf  _ thing, _ but he wasn’t going to lie about his past either.  Varric was right.  He couldn’t pretend that he was two different people in the before and after.  Even if he  _ was _ trying to be a better man now, he was still the Ian that had spent more than one night with his cheek stuck to the bar room floor after passing out.

If anything Dorian looked delighted at Ian’s statement.  He leaned in close, until his shoulder bumped against Ian’s pauldron.  “I’ve never been particularly polite.”

Ian huffed, but was smiling all the same.  “You’ve made your point.  I see that you’re going to be all sorts of trouble for my self-control.”  He licked his lips as he tried to recall a particular story, and didn’t miss the way that Dorian’s eyes followed the path of his tongue.  “This was a few years ago.  I was in the Gull--that’s my favorite Tavern when….”

 

_______

 

“The secret passage begins here, and it leads into the dungeons.”  Leliana pointed out the pathway on the map, and Cullen moved the markers into place.  One went on the windmill and three more traced the pathway through the town.  “The Herald and his entourage will enter from the front.  If our men enter the tunnels as they enter the town, my agents should be in place by the time the Herald gets an audience.”

“I still don’t like the idea of this,” Cullen sighed.  “The plan is as sound as any, but there are too many variables.  What if they’re ambushed in town?  What if Alexius refuses to see him at all?  What if this Dorian was lying about the number of guards inside?”  He slumped back into the chair along the back wall then scooted it closer to the table.  “At least sent Lysette in with your agents.  She can be stealthy enough, and even one templar could make all the difference.”

And keep an eye on their new Tevinter friend while she was at it.

Leliana agreed without a fuss.  “Aright.  Ten of my agents, one templar, and a Tevinter mage in through the tunnels.”

“It will have to do.”  Cullen slumped back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

“Good, then we can talk about what’s really bothering you.  Is it the lyrium or the Order?”  Leliana’s matter of fact tone had Cullen’s head snapping upwards.  She smiled at him, amused.  “What?  Did you think I did not notice?”

“The day I pull one over on you is the day that you murder me for it,” Cullen drawled.  He wasn’t fool enough to think he could hide anything from her.

“I’m far too attached to you for murder.  You’re adorable.  Like a puppy.”

Cullen scowled, but flushed all the same, and of course, that was when Josephine let herself into the room.  “We’ve received another letter from Bann Trevelyan demanding the return of his so--oh!  Have you been teasing our commander again?”

“Only a little,” Leliana assured her as she took the stack of letters and glanced at the open one on top.

“Another,” Cullen asked.  He was more than a little relieved at the change of topic.

“The third,” Leliana answered, only to be cut off by Josephine's huff.

“The fourth,” she corrected with a shake of her head.  “He’s threatening to disown the Herald, but as far as threats go, it’s an empty one.  The Herald’s identity is public knowledge now.  His family is gaining too much notoriety from it to cut him off completely.”

The entire thing boggled Cullen’s mind.  While he wasn’t in constant contact with his family himself, there was no animosity between them; not at this level, anyway.  They’d yet to see any sign of the man in Bann described in his letters, and if the Herald hadn’t confirmed the rumors himself, Cullen would have dismissed them as vicious lies.  Then again, he wasn’t the Herald’s constant companion, either.  “Does he know about this?”

“He told me to burn the letters, but we’ve been scanning them just in case,” Josephine explained without elaborating on  _ in case of what. _  Her lips pursed as she tapped the side of her quill against her writing-board.  “I’m learning that Trevelyans are very stubborn.”

That, Cullen could agree with.   _ Their _ Trevelyan was like a dog with a bone about the rebel mages.

Speaking of, they were wasting their time gossiping.  “If that’s all, I’ll go inform the Herald that we’re ready to move.”

Josephine had the grace to look chagrined, but Leliana was unrepentant.  “I’ll gather my agents.  We’ll be ready to leave before the next bell.”  

Cullen pushed himself up from the chair and gathered his papers.  “See you at the gates.”

He passed the papers off to his runner on his way out of the Chantry then stepped out into the fresh air.  It was only around midday, and the weather was fair enough-- almost pleasant, if you could ignore the ever-present hole in a sky.  If it was around lunchtime, Cullen had a fair idea of where the Herald would be.

His suspicion was confirmed, as he approached the campsite that served as Varric’s quarters.  The Herald was sitting on the wall, but for once, he was neither in the company of Varric or alone.  He was with the Tevinter magister.  Dorian.  Cullen slowed his step as he approached the duo, and took the chance to observe them.

The Herald looked, well, the best word for it was animated.  In the time that Cullen had known the Trevelyan, he’d been subdued, perhaps even a bit fearful.  Yes, he joked, and even flirted with everyone from Cassandra to Cullen himself, but it all seemed a bit forced.  The difference was astounding.  The Herald spoke with his hands.  They flew about him in wild gestures as he told his story and punctuated his sentences.

The most astounding changes were on his face.  The Herald’s already bright eyes were alive with mirth as he dropped his chin and gave the mage a kind of coy look.  The detail must have been a lurid one, as they both descended into laughter.  They bumped shoulders as they laughed and  _ something _ churned low in Cullen’s stomach.

Cullen ignored it.  He was good at ignoring those kinds of  _ somethings. _

The Herald looked lighter; years younger, even.  He was a good man that deserved to look that way more often.  He didn’t deserve the weight that Cullen was about to drop back on his shoulders.

There it was.  The Herald caught sight of Cullen and his face closed off.  His shoulders squared as his back straightened.  Cullen ignored the feeling that  _ that _ gave him as well.  “Herald.  I’m sorry to interupt, but we’re gathering to leave.”

“You’ll have to tell me the end of that tale another time then,” the mage sighed.  “I’m dying to know what happened to the dowager’s dog.”

The Herald chuckled, but it was the dry sound that Cullen was used to hearing.  “If we survive, I’ll be glad to.  Thank you for letting me know, Commander.  I’ll accompany you to the gates.”  He slid down from his perch, and straightened his armor.  “Ready when you are.”

“Don’t forget me!” The mage huffed as he followed suit.  “I believe we have a deal about facing Alexius, do we not?”

“We do,” Cullen confirmed.  He still wasn’t sure what to think of this Dorian  _ of House Pavus, _ but if he put that kind of smile on the Herald’s face, Cullen was willing to put up with him.  For now.  “We have a plan as well.  I’ll fill you in as we walk.”

______

 

The Herald traveled ahead with the dwarf and the Seeker at his side, and  _ really _ if Dorian was going to still around, he was going to have to learn names because referring to everyone by titles and vague descriptions was getting tiresome already.  But, that was the question, wasn’t it?  Was Dorian going to stick around?  He hadn’t pledged himself into the service of the Inquisition yet, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

The question weighed heavy on his mind as they made the trip from Haven back to Redcliffe.  He supposed it depended on tonight’s outcome.  Dorian didn’t know what the Inquisition was planning on doing with Alexius, but he doubted it would be letting him go with a stern word to not come back.

Truth be told, Dorian wouldn’t respect them if that was the plan.  What Alexius had done..what he was planning on doing..

It was dark when they arrived in Redcliffe.

All eyes were on the Herald’s group up ahead as they rode through Redcliffe’s gates.  No one noticed the ten agents, templar, and Tevinter mage as they snuck around the gates and into the windmill, where Leliana promised the path would be.  To Dorian’s surprise, it was there, and this wasn’t an elaborate plan to take him hostage.  Two points for the Inquisition.  The agents went down first, then signaled up for Dorian and his new templar friend to follow.

He used the term friend loosely.

The tunnel was decrepit and crumbling.  Dorian didn’t know what he was expecting; fine dwarven craftsmanship perhaps, and not damp, loose stones, creaking ceilings, and the stench of something dead and left to rot.  He followed the agents forward with a spell on his lips, just in case the tunnel started falling apart around them.  But, it didn’t.  The masonry held, and nothing jumped out to rend them limb from limb.  Success.  The agents fanned out in search of signs of life before signaling Dorian forward once again.

The plan now was to make their way through the castle, to the throne room, where they would spring the ambush.  Easy enough.  Dorian picked an agent and stayed close by as they swept through the hallways.  The agent was as quick with a blade as Dorian was with his spells, and they made good time.  They filtered into the throne room one by one through a side door on silent feet and took up positions in the shadows behind some rather conveniently placed pillars.

Alexius sat on his stolen throne with Felix to his side.  Dorian’s agent moved forward, and sliced the throat of a nearby guard so Dorian could move into a better position.  Dorian stepped over the body to do so, and sought out the various players in the room.

“Do you think you can turn my son against me?”  Alexius pushed up from the chair and tore away from Felix to stalk to the edge of the dias.  “You walk into  _ my  _ stronghold with your stolen mark-- a gift you don’t even understand-- and think you’re in control?  You’re  _ nothing _ but a mistake.”

He couldn’t see the Herald from where he was standing, but Dorian could hear him, loud and clear.  “Oh, like I haven’t heard that before,” the Herald drawled with a laugh before sobering.  “What do you know about the Divine’s death?”

“It was the Elder One’s moment, and you were unworthy even to stand in his presence.”  Dorian could scarce believe what he was hearing from Alexius’ mouth.  It was one thing to be told how far his mentor had fallen, but another thing to see it in all its horrifying glory.

Felix stepped forward.  He looked paler than when Dorian saw him last, even though barely a day had passed, and was just as stricken by his father’s words as Dorian was.  “Father, listen to yourself,” he pleaded.  “Do you know what you sound like?”

Dorian couldn’t take it any longer.  He stepped out from around the pillar he was hiding behind to come up beside the Herald.  “He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be.”

“Dorian.”  Alexius didn’t even have the grace to act surprised.  His eyes narrowed as he stepped forward again.  Now that they were both in the light, Dorian could see him better.  His mentor looked  _ old. _  The past few months aged him years, and the small laugh lines on his face that were familiar to Dorian, were hidden by the new deeper wrinkles that told of despair.  “I gave you a chance to be a part of this.  You turned me down.  The Elder One has power you would not believe.  He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“What’s better than turning back time?” The Herald piped up from Dorian’s side, prompting a spiel about the glory of the Imperium that burned Dorian’s ears.  It was the exact kind of bullshit that Dorian had heard his entire life.  It was the exact kind of bullshit that Alexius had once been against.

Dorian spat it back to his mentor’s face.

Alexius was once a man that Dorian could look up to, at a time when he desperately needed such a person.  He’d heard Dorian, and encouraged his thinking.  They’d spent hours--days, weeks even-- discussing the Imperium and its future.  They’d planned, and now it was all coming apart because of what?  Desperation and empty promises?

“I’m going to die. You need to accept that.” Felix attempted one last time to appeal to his father, but it was all for naught.

Alexius didn’t even look at Dorian as he gave the order.  His eyes stayed glued to the Herald as his face turned up into an ugly scowl.  “Seize them, Venatori!  The Elder One demands this man’s life!”

The agents in waiting took that as their sign.  Before the guards could move forward, blades found throats and bellies, and the Venatori collapsed to the ground.  Dorian didn’t dare spare them a glance as he feared what Alexius would do once he was cornered.

“I’m going to ask you one last time, Alexius. Give up th--”

“You,” Alexius hissed as he stalked forward.  Dorian could see the edges of something gripped tight in his hand.  He couldn’t see what it was just yet, but knew it couldn’t be good.  He drew his staff, seemingly unnoticed by all as they were riveted by the exchange between Alexius and the Herald.  “You..are a mistake!  You never should have existed!”

He held up his palm, and Dorian figured out what the item was; far too late.  “No,” he yelled before Alexius could cast, and began a spell of his own.   _ Too slow _ , it was too slow.  His spell knocked the amulet from Alexius’ hand but the spell rebounded back and knocked Dorian and everyone near him off their feet.  Dorian’s vision swam as green light filled it and he felt  _ something _ before the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thanks again for reading. -grooves.- I managed to update on time this week, even if this chapter is a little shorter than the last few. Hurrah!
> 
> Things are heating up, and all the main players were in the same place at the same time for at least one scene. Cullen might even have a little bit of a crush. Hmm.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @mostlyharmlessgaming
> 
> Next Chapter: More In Hushed Whispers. Time Travel! Not just for doctors!


	8. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Ian's (Not So) Excellent Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: Into Hushed Whispers

Ian took a deep breath, and got a lungful of water for his trouble.  Well, that’s what he got for breathing.  He coughed and sputtered as he pushed himself up to his elbows, then to his knees.  He wavered, dazed, then cracked his eyes open to find the room around him blurry and vastly changed.

Sputtering to his right drew his attention, and Ian rubbed at his eyes until Dorian’s form came into focus.  “I suppose sassing the Tevinter magister wasn’t the brightest of ideas,” he joked as he pulled himself the rest of the way to his feet.

“To be fair, I did my share of the talking,” Dorian hissed as he followed Ian’s example.  No sooner were they both standing, two Venatori guards blocked the doorway.

“Blood of the Elder One!  Where did these two come from?”  They all stared at each other for a moment before the guards charged.  Ian’s back ached from the rough landing, but he forced his shield up all the same.  He was really beginning to hate close quarters combat.  Their swords met Ian’s shield with a heavy clang, and Dorian used the distraction to cast a lightning spell that came far too close for Ian’s comfort.

He raised a brow at the mage, who shrugged, the very picture of innocence.  “I didn’t singe so much as a hair.”

Ian huffed, but didn’t argue.  He was relieved to be able to sheathe his weapon and get his first  _ good  _ look at their surroundings.  “Where are we?”

Dorian smirked, then led the way out of the cell.  He peered around, as curious as Ian was, but recognition soon filled his gaze. “The Redcliffe dungeons,” he explained then pointed to a section of wall.  “That’s where Leliana’s secret passage ended.  Displacement, interesting, but none of  _ that _ was here twenty minutes ago.  What is it?  It..sings.”

Ian followed Dorian’s pointing finger away from the secret passage to the red crystals that covered the far end of the hallway.  They grew from the walls, the ceilings, and the floors.   _ Sweet Andraste _ but it looked as if they grew from anything that stayed stationary long enough for it to happen.  He didn’t hear a song, as Dorian was describing, but Ian did know what the crystals were.  “It’s red lyrium.  We found it at the Temple of Sacred Ashes after the explosion.  It---Don’t touch it!” Ian hastily added when Dorian reached out.  “Varric said that continued exposure made people lose their minds.”

Dorian drew back, though slower than Ian would have liked.  He seemed fascinated by the red crystals, and that couldn’t be a good thing.  “The rift must have moved us to the nearest occurrence of arcane energy.  Perhaps generated by this  _ lyrium. _ ”

“That sounds like complete gibberish to me,” Ian grumbled.  “Concurrence of what?”

“ _ Occurrence of-- _ no mind,” Dorian hummed as he leveled Ian with a look that spoke loud and clear of what he thought of Ian’s intelligence.  He paced back and forth with short stuttering steps as he continued to work though the problem, though without sharing his thought process this time.  Ian was beginning to feel useless, which was almost relieving in a way, after a month of everything hinging on his choices.  “Ah, of course.  It isn’t just where; it’s when.  Alexius used the amulet as a focus, it moved us through time.”

Ian quirked a brow and drawled,  “By all means, touch the red lyrium.  You’re already insane.”

“You walked through the Fade,  _ physically _ , and a little bit of time travel is where you draw the line?”  Dorian drawled right back at him.

“I don’t remember much about the experience,” Ian shrugged.  “But what I do recall, it was more like  _ ran screaming through the Fade. _ ”

“Very heroic.”

“I know, right?”  Ian sighed and shook his head.  “Alright then.  Time travel.  We’re still in Redcliffe, but have no way of knowing when.  We should explore.”

There, now he wasn’t being quite so useless.

They didn’t quite fall into silence as they moved into the hall.  Dorian seemed to be the type that needed to fill the quiet, and Ian didn’t begrudge him that.  The steady flow of words gave him something to concentrate on rather than stew in his own thoughts.  There was something soothing about Dorian’s cadence, even, and that kept Ian calm and focused as they made their way upstairs.

Two guards later and they were no closer to answers, but they did have a ring of keys.  “Is it too much to ask that no one tries to kill me on sight?”

“Perhaps it’s how they show love,” Dorian joked in return.

The  _ feel _ of the dungeons was beginning to get to Ian.  There was a pressure to the air that put his teeth on edge.  Perhaps that was what Dorian meant when he said the lyrium was singing.  Ian still didn’t hear a song, per say, but he could feel  _ something _ reverberate through his skull, as he unlocked the next door.

The new set of stairs led them downwards into another wing of cells.  Now, Ian could hear a song, but didn’t think it was the lyrium.  No, someone was humming.  It cut off as they approached the first cell.

“Andraste’s sacred knickers,” the form inside cursed, and Ian knew that voice, even if there was something about it that sounded off.  He moved closer to the bars, and there, leaning against the back wall was Varric.  “Never thought I see you again.  Where have you been?”  The problem wasn’t just with Varric’s voice.  The dwarf looked  _ horrible. _  His eyes were an unnatural red and his skin sallow.  

“According to Dorian, it’s more of a when,” Ian swallowed around a knot in his throat as he explained and began to try and unlock the cell.  “But let’s get you out of there before something starts growing.”

“And, perhaps you can fill us in on what happened,” Dorian added.

The third key worked and the barred door swung open.  Varric stared at the empty air as if he didn’t trust it, so Ian stepped into the space to help his friend up.  He wrapped his hands around Varric’s forearms and tried not to think about how thin the dwarf felt as between the two of them, they got Varric standing.  What kind of future was this?

“After you die-disappeared, Alexius had Cassandra and I locked up.  Cullen,  _ maker help him, _ tried to rescue us.  Threw everything the Inquisition had at the walls of Redcliffe, but it wasn’t enough.”  With Ian’s help, Varric shuffled out of the cell.  He seemed to grow stronger the more he moved about, and soon Ian was able to let go so Varric could move about under his own power.  He peered around as if he’d never seen the outside world, and Ian had to swallow again, to keep the bile down.  “By the time the Elder One showed up, the Inquisition wasn’t enough.  He killed the Empress of Orlais then marched on Ferelden with a demon army.  He rules the south now, or  _ what’s left of it.” _

“Well, that’s bleak,” Dorian sighed.

“We have to stop it somehow,” Ian replied without much hope of being able to do anything at all.  Even if he did still have the mark, what was one man against a demon army?  The worst had already happened.  He was too late to make a difference.

“Yes, about that,” Dorian started, then trailed off.  His back was turned to Ian and Varric as he stared at one of the lyrium clusters that filled the opposite cell.  “Hm yes, we may be able to pull it off.”

Ian stared at the mage’s back, and wished he hadn’t said anything earlier, to make the mage so tightlipped about his ideas.  “Pull what off, Dorian?  You have thoughts?”

“Several of them.  They’re precious, like small glimmering gems.”

Ian huffed, but only to hide his smile.  “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing them?”

“Of course, but after we get moving.  Something tells me that staying in one place for too long is a bad idea.” Dorian turned from the lyrium to look down at Varric.  Ian had thought it to himself earlier.  It grew from anything that stayed stationary long enough, perhaps that included people as well.

“Varric?”

The dwarf scoffed.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I’m coming with you.  I don’t know if you're crazy, or if I’m crazy, scratch that, I know  _ I’m _ crazy, but even if you are a hallucination, going with you is still better than staying here, and besides, I said I’d have your back, didn’t I?”

He looked up at Ian with glowing red eyes and a pained half smile that broke Ian’s heart.  “Yeah, Varric.  You did.  But I kind of think if that promise leads you here, I’d rather you turn and run.”

“Too late for takesies backsies,” Varric huffed and gave Ian’s arm a squeeze.  “A promise is a promise, and now let’s get moving.  I want to hear the sparkler’s plan.”

They left Varric’s cell block and headed for the next wing as Dorian explained.  “Alexius used the amulet we made as a focus.  If we can get our hands on that amulet, and reverse the spell; boom, none of this ever happened.”

That seemed easy enough, or you know, impossible.  “I’m betting said amulet is with Alexius,” Ian stated more than asked as he opened the door to find it led down into another wing of cells.  The guards below were alerted by the sound of his voice, and they charged upwards.  Ian waited until the last moment to slam the door closed again, and was gratified to hear twin thunks against the heavy wood.  Dorian was ready when he opened the door again, and his lightning spell sent the dazed guards flying back down the staircase to thud against the far wall.

They were getting good at working together.

They also needed to find Varric a weapon.

“Alexius will be in the throne room,” Varric supplied as they made their way down the stairs.  “But he’s nothing.  If the Elder One finds out you’re here-- I did mention the demon army right?”

Dorian cast another spell at the guards, just to be sure.  “You did, and the thought of it is suitably terrifying, but it’s worth the risk.”

Ian tuned them both out as he made his way through the cell block.  Cassandra was sitting, curled up in the second to last cell, and despite the commotion of their entrance, she stared, blank and unseeing at the far wall.  Ian coughed, but it still didn’t draw her attention.  He bit at his lips as he worked through the set of keys until he found the right one.  Once the door was open, he knelt down, but didn’t dare touch her.  “Hello Seeker.  It’s your favorite prisoner.”

When her head finally turned, there was a slow dawning.  Ian could see her glowing eyes focus.  “It is you.  I hadn’t dared hope.”

Cassandra licked her lips, and Ian smiled.  He pushed himself back up to his feet then offered her his hand.  “I know it’s a bit of a shock, but well, even I’m shocked.  Time travel, who knew?  The important thing is that Dorian believes he can undo all of this.”

She took his hand and pulled herself to her feet.  “Undo it?”

“If all goes to plan, then the Herald and I will pop right back up after the original spell, and all of this?  Never happened.”

Cassandra’s gaze hardened even as her smile grew.  She stepped around Ian to arm herself with one of the fallen guard’s weapons.  “What is it you need?”

Stuck in a cell for who knew how long, and poisoned by red lyrium, Cassandra was still ready to do whatever needed to be done to get things back on track.  Ian tried to take comfort in that.  “There’s an amulet.  It will be near, if not on Alexius.”

“Then we need to move.”  Cassandra wasted no time in heading for the stairs.  “Alexius will be in the throne room, but first we will need to find Leliana.  He will be well guarded, and we need all the help we can get.”

________

 

They found Fiona in the same block of cells as Cassandra, well on her way to becoming a statue made of red lyrium.  She spoke to the Herald, but little, and even that seemed to expend the energy she had left.  Unlike the others, she knew the date, but otherwise repeated much of what they already knew.  In the end, they had no choice but to leave her to her fate.  The only thing that could be done for her now, was to undo it all-- and that rode on Dorian’s shoulders alone.

In theory, if all of his assumptions about the spells that sent them here were correct, it wouldn’t be so hard to undo them.  If they weren’t, well, Dorian was going to jump that hurdle when he got to it.  There was no point in wasting brain power on what ifs at this point in the game.

Dorian was torn between fascination and horror.  According to Fiona, they were merely a year into the future, but the amount of decay around the castle was incredible.  At the beginning, Dorian had estimated five years at the least, but it was clear that without the Herald around to trip things up, everything snowballed right on into chaos.  Or, perhaps the would always end up here; tricky thing, time travel.

What should have been a thrilling application of theoretical magic made real, only left a sour taste in his mouth.  Solving the riddle of time travel was  _ supposed  _ to be his and Alexius’ crowning achievement, but Alexius perverted their work, and all in the service of some eldritch creature.

Dorian was seething as he followed the Herald from room to room.  How dare Alexius?

Another door opened and they were finally moving upwards out of the dungeons.

A shriek broke the silence and sent the group running for the nearest door.  Another pair of Venatori turned as the door slammed open; a woman slumped between them.  “No,” the Herald yelled as he stepped forward, but he was too late to stop what they all knew was coming next.  One of the guards slit the woman’s neck as the other turned to engage them.

The Herald charged forward.  He used his shield more like a battering ram than a defensive weapon, and pushed one of the guards to the floor.  Cassandra, though sluggish, fought with better form as she engaged the second.  The battle was quick, but in all, they accomplished little.  The woman was dead, and they were no closer to the throne room.

Varric wandered over to the far wall as the Herald read over papers left on a desk, and rummaged through a rack of weapons.  He came up with a crossbow and shrugged before continuing to look through the pile.  “She’s not Bianca, but she’ll have to do.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Dorian agreed, assuming that Bianca referred to the dwarf’s rather impressive weapon, and not, say, a person that Varric was hallucinating.  Both seemed just as likely as the other.

His quip was met with a wane smile as Varric notched a bolt into the crossbow.  “Sure do.  I’m ready when you are.”

The Herald was almost as pale as Varric was as they left the room and moved onto the next.  The more they learned about the future they’d been thrown into, the more sullen the man seemed, not that Dorian could blame him.  He imagined the weight of knowing just how bad things would become if you weren’t there was rather heavy.

He nudged his shoulder into the Herald’s when he hesitated at the next door, and the man flashed Dorian a grateful look as he found the right key for the lock.  The next two chambers they investigated turned up empty, save for the grisly remains of tortures past, so they moved along without lingering.

“I think I hear voices at the end of the hall.”  The Herald strode forward and pushed the unlocked door open with a great shove.  Dorian hurried to follow, but the commotion that stirred at the Herald’s sudden entrance died as quickly as it began.  He entered the room to find the Herald helping Leliana down from a set of shackles.  Dorian had only had one brief encounter with the left hand of the Divine while in Haven.  She'd cornered him, and quizzed him on his intentions, then sent him on his way with a stern warning that she would be watching.  Dorian was comfortable enough in who and what he was, to admit she’d more than unsettled him, but the woman he’d met then was nothing compared to the one who stood before him now.  She might not be showing the signs of lyrium poisoning like the others they’d met, but oh, how she’d suffered.

“Alexius sent us into the future.  This, his victory, his Elder one; it was never meant to be.”  Dorian meant for it to be comforting, but his words seemed to have little effect on Leliana as she armed herself.

The Herald edged his way between them.  “I’m sorry, Leliana.  For all of this.  But Dorian thinks we can make this right-- make it as if none of this ever happened.  I will fix this.  Or die trying.”

His words didn’t seem to have the intended effect either.  “And mages wonder why people fear them,” Leliana drawled as she stalked closer.  “No one should have that power.”

“It’s dangerous and unpredictable,” Dorian attempted to explain.  “Before the breach, nothing we did---”

“Enough,” Leliana bit out, her back straight as she stood tall despite her obvious fatigue.  “This is all  _ pretend _ to you; some future you hope will never exist.  I suffered.  The whole world suffered.  It was real.”

The raised voices startled Cassandra and Varric.  Varric groaned and curled his fingers in his hair as Cassandra ordered, “Stop.  This arguing isn’t doing anything.  We should move.  We  _ need _ to reach Alexius.”

Being ushered on from room to room seemed to be the common theme of the day.  Dorian supported that decision well enough.  It wasn’t like  _ he _ wanted to loiter around in an actual dungeon until the Elder One showed up with his demon army and killed them all.  Leliana looked as if she wished to say more, more her jaw clicked shut, and she spun around to stalk out of the room.

The Herald shook his head and followed.  “Let’s just get this over with,” he sighed.

They fought on.

Nothing inside the dungeons could have prepared Dorian for his first glimpse of the outside world.  There was no sun, no moon; there was only the breech.  The hole filled the entire skyline and cast a green haze down onto the world below that was made worse by the rifts that filled the courtyard.  If there were this many demons just roaming about, wild, then how many made up the demon army?

Dorian didn’t think he wanted to find out.

Their next setback was an ancient locked door-- damn Alexius and his paranoia, that sent them on a merry hunt through the personal wings of the castle to find the pieces of the key that was split between several of the Venatori guards.

By the time they reached the throne room, Dorian was exhausted.  There was no telling how much time had passed, between the Breech, the rifts, and Alexius’ spells.  The closer they got to the man, the more warped time became.

Together, he and the Herald approached the dias, where Alexius stood and stared into the fire.  He didn’t turn, even as the pair of them stopped at the foot of the steps.  “It’s over, Alexius,” the Herald called out.  He sounded as exhausted as Dorian felt, though perhaps not so sad, that after everything it had come to this.

“So it is.”  Alexius didn’t even jump at the words.  “I knew that you would appear again; not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

“Was it worth it?”  Dorian all but begged for an answer.  He wanted to march right up the steps and shake the man while demanding he undo it all, but his feet were rooted to the spot.

“It doesn’t matter now.  All we can do is wait for the end.”

There was something wrong.  The defeated tone.  The slumped posture.  The way Alexius refused to even turn and look at them, it couldn’t all just be because he and the Herald reappeared.  “What do you mean, what is ending?”

Alexius let out a dry chuckle, and half turned.  Even in profile he looked horrible.  Whatever his choices, it was clear that the past year hadn’t been kind to Alexius either.  Dorian hardened himself against the feeling that welled up in him.   _ This _ was all Alexius’ own doing.  He’d wrought it all, and more than deserved the extra lines etched into his face.  “You know Dorian.  I’m almost glad you’re here.  I considered you part of my family, you know.  It’s fitting you should die with us.

“The Elder One comes.  For me.  For you.  For us all.”

Dorian was so wrapped up in Alexius that he never saw Leliana move.  One moment she was standing behind them with the others, and in the next she was on the dias, pulling a hunched figure up into her arms.

_ That _ got a reaction out of Alexius..

..and of Dorian.

“Felix,” Alexius cried out as he spun and reached towards his son.

Dorian caught himself doing the same, but reigned himself in and turned his anger on Alexius.  “ _ That’s _ Felix?  Maker’s breath Alexius!  What  _ have _ you done?”  Dorian couldn’t even hear the rest of the conversation over the roaring in his ears. What he saw before him couldn’t be his friend.  It was a wraith or..or..a demon wearing Felix’s skin.

He would never have the chance to find out.  The Herald attempted to barter with Alexius, but Leliana was having none of it.  Dorian could only watch in horror as she slit Felix’s throat.  For a moment, the only sound in the room was the gurgle of Felix’s blood, then Leliana’s whispered, “I want the world back.”

It should have been clear the moment that she chose Felix as her target, instead of just slitting Alexius’ throat and putting an end to it all before it got to this point.  She didn’t just want to end things, she wanted Alexius to hurt.

Well, she had hurt Dorian as well with her actions, and she was right.  It didn’t matter that all of it could be undone, he was never going to rid himself of Felix’s body sinking to the floor.  He didn’t know whether to apologize or hate her for the new point of view.

He didn’t have long to think about it.  Alexius tore his eyes away from Felix’s body and growled out a spell that had them all stumbling away.  “No!”

Dorian rolled until he could get his feet back under him and cast a barrier.  Around him, the others were recovering as well, but not fast enough to stop Alexius from casting one of his localized time-disrupters.  It seemed, over the past year that hopefully never would be, that he’d mastered the spellwork involved.  It was unfortunate that where the disrupted time field appeared, so did a Rift.

The Herald growled and, honest to the Maker,  _ punched _ a demon as it appeared.  Dorian could work with that.  He’d remember the moment fondly once things were not quite as dangerous.  “I’ll deal with the rift.”  The Herald lashed out again, and pushed the demon right onto Cassandra’s sword.  “Do what you have to to keep Alexius from summoning more!”

That was easier said than done.  Dorian knew Alexius.  He knew how he moved, and how he cast, but the creature of grief and desperation standing on the dias was as foreign to Dorian as Ferelden cuisine.  He waited until Alexius to begin to cast once more before he called lightning down upon the dias.  That would buy them a few seconds at least, as Alexius had to redirect his energy to a barrier.

A demon stumbled into Dorian’s back, drawing his attention from Alexius, only for it to disintegrate a moment later with one of Varric’s bolts through it’s eye socket.  The dwarf sent Dorian a jaunty little salute as he loaded another bolt into the weapon.  Well, then.  Around the same time, several other things happened.  Light arched between the Herald’s fist and the rift as Cassandra slayed the last demon, and a single arrow shot forth from the shadows.  The arrow caught Alexius in the throat, and he fell with the same sickening gurgle as Felix.

The magic died down around them, as the rift faded into nothingness.

Silence.

Dorian stepped forward, then knelt down by the body of his mentor.  After everything, he’d expected more of a fight.  “He wanted to die, didn’t he?  All those lies he told himself, the justifications.  He lost Felix long ago, and didn’t even notice.”

The Herald approached him from behind and squeezed his shoulder.  “It doesn’t have to be this way.  Alexius, and perhaps even Felix-- they can still be saved.  Find the amulet and get us home.”   
  
Dorian slumped, but nodded in agreement.  The amulet was hanging around Alexius’ neck, and Dorian broke the chain, rather than try and navigate it around the arrow.  It was drenched in blood, that made it slippery in his grasp.  “Give me an hour, and I should be able to work out the spells he used to open the rift.”

“An hour?  That’s impossible!  You must go now!”  Leliana spat.  Suddenly the room shook, and a screech filled the air, as if summoned by her very words.  “The Elder One!”

“This is bad,” Varric sing-songed as he glanced up at Cassandra.  They seemed to hold a silent conversation, then came to an equally silent agreement.  “We’ll hold the main door.  Once they’ve broken through?  It’s all you, Nightingale.”

All of Dorian’s earlier thoughts about crossing bridges when he got to them came back to bite him in the arse.  Hindsight was a  _ bitch. _  Still, imminent death was an  _ excellent _ motivator.  He left the Herald to his goodbyes, and hopped up the steps to get to work on the amulet.  Opening the portal was the easy part.  The trick to it, was making sure that it led to where they wanted it to go.  Dorian prayed that his earlier assumptions about Alexius’ spells were correct, and that he wasn’t about to damn them further by ripping them into little pieces.

He was far too pretty to die in such a manner.

He was almost done when the demons broke through the door.  Leliana never hesitated.  She loosed one arrow after another, but it wasn’t going to be enough.  The Herald made a distraught whine, and moved to go aid her, but Dorian swallowed and grabbed his arm.  “You move, and we all die!”

The portal began to hum and pulse, not unlike the other Rifts, so Dorian hoped he was doing something right.  Pressure hummed around them, as Leliana fell, and the demons turned their attention to the dias.  “C’mon.  Faster.   _ Faster. _  Just a little  _ more _ ,” Dorian begged to himself as the power grew.  They were cutting it too close.

Then the world exploded in a flash of green.  Smoke filled Dorian’s vision, and when it cleared, they were once again in Redcliffe’s throne room.  It was blessedly free of demons and red lyrium.  No, only Alexius remained, his face falling as he realized his failure, with Felix at his back.  “You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian smirked with humor that didn’t go more than skin deep.  He was still sick to his stomach with all that he’d seen and learned.

Alexius fell to his knees in surrender, and Dorian felt as if a chapter of his life was slamming shut.  Before him, broken, was a man that Dorian had once measured all other men against, and now, Dorian looked again and found him painfully wanting.  He’d traveled across the known world for this shadow of man he once adored, and now what was he supposed to do?

Felix stood, and gave his father’s shoulder a squeeze before they both allowed the Inquisition’s agents to escort them from the throne room.  Dorian watched them go with a lump in his throat, and a promise to speak with them both as soon as possible in his heart.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with.”  Famous last words.  The sound of heavy armor against stone floors filled the throne room as a routine of soldiers marched in through the front door.  “Or not.”

  
  


________

 

Ian wondered if it would be considered rude to bash his head out against one of the fine stone pillars that decorated the room, then, he wondered if he really cared.

He was weary--more than that-- he was  _ soul _ weary.  Their trip into the future, and the way it ended, wasn’t something that he’d been prepared to deal with.  It was one thing to know that he was the only one, that they knew of, that could close rifts, and entirely different thing to see your friends tortured, then killed, all because you got there too late to stop it.

They might have made it so that future would never happen, but that didn’t mean Ian was any closer to forgetting it.  He figured Dorian was affected in much the same way.  The mage was pale, and quiet, aside from his quipped commentary.  Even the way he looked at Alexius had changed.  His bright grey eyes seemed shadowed.

Not that Ian was paying that much attention to Dorian’s eyes.

What he needed, was time to process everything that happened, but that wasn’t going to happen until their business was complete, and  _ that  _ wasn’t going to happen with another group of soldiers taking up position along the walls.  Ian squared his shoulders, and turned to meet this new obstacle, all while screaming inside his head that it was  _ too much. _

“Grand Enchanter, imagine how surprised I was to learn you’d given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter Magister.”

Ian had no clue who this man was, other than important, but thanked the Maker that he didn’t appear to be here for the Herald of Andraste.  Perhaps his wish that he’d meet someone who didn’t try to kill him on sight was coming true, at long last.

“King Alistair!”  It was the first time Ian could recall hearing Fiona sounding so hesitant in their short acquaintance, though he supposed he would too, if he’d slighted the king of Ferelden.  Funny, he’d always imagined royalty to look more  _ regal. _  Fiona wrung her hands as she stepped forward, the but king wasn’t done.

“Especially since I’m fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan.  Where might he be?”

Fiona seemed to be at a loss for words, and that was when Dorian pipped up helpfully from Ian’s side, “Rumor has it he’s in Denerim.”

“Yes, he’s in Denerim,” King Alistair agreed before blinking, and turning his attention to Ian’s group.  “Wait--who are you?  More Tevinter magisters?”

“Only the one,” Ian was quick to reassure the man, even as he edged his way between the men and Dorian; as if he stood a chance against the king’s honor guard.  “We’re agents of the Inquisition.”

The king seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding.  “Ah yes, I remember being told about that.  Hole in the sky.  Demons.  Nasty business.  What are you doing here?”

Ian shrugged.  He was too exhausted for finesse, and the king wasn’t..well, he wasn’t at all what Ian expected.  “Looking for mages to uhh help close that hole in the sky.”

“Well then, you're in luck,” the king sighed as he turned his attentions back to Fiona.  He looked at her, much in the way that Dorian now looked at Alexius and shook his head.  “I wanted to help you, but your actions have made that impossible.  You are no longer welcome in Redcliffe.  Whatever deal the Inquisition has for you, I suggest you take it.”

It was then, all eyes in the room turned upon Ian.  “Well then, Herald of Andraste, what are your terms?”

Ian’s stomach sank.  They wanted terms?  After everything else that had happened that day, he had no idea what to say.  They  _ needed _ the mages, but could they be trusted?  How desperate were they that they would just invite Alexius in through the door? “I..well.  Come with us.  Help me seal the Breach and solve the mystery of these Venatori and their Elder One.  Fight at our side, and you will be considered equals.”

He could tell from the way Cassandra’s face went pinched that he’d said the wrong thing.  It was too late to take it back and come up with something now, and Ian didn’t even know if he wanted to.

“Then I suppose we accept your offer; it would be madness not to.”  Fiona’s shoulders slumped.  She was the very picture of a woman defeated, despite the more than affable deal Ian offered her.  It had to have been better than what Alexius’ terms had been at least.  She kept sneaking glances at the king, even as she continued to speak to Ian, and he had to wonder if there was something there, that he didn’t know about it.  “We won’t give you a reason to regret your generous offer.  I will ready my people to leave for Haven.”

She shuffled from the room and left Ian in what might have been the most awkward silence of his life.  He bit his lip and watched as the king slunk up to flop onto the throne.  “Well, that went better than expected,” the other man grumbled, before seeming to realize that he wasn’t alone. “Ah, send word to Tegan that his castle is mage-free.  The rest of you..make sure that’s true.  You,” he pointed at Ian, “come speak with me.”

Ian panicked as his friends abandoned him to a private chat with the king of Ferelden.  Varric even had the gall to wink with him as they backed out the door to wait outside, the  _ bastard. _  Wait--the king was a bastard,  _ wasn’t he?   _ Best not to even think the word.

He squared his shoulders, and offered the king his best winning smile.

It seemed to have the opposite than intended effect on the king, whose brows furrowed.  “No, you don’t have to do that.  You looked like you could use a break, and  _ Maker knows _ I could use one.  Have a seat.”

Ian plopped down on the steps, for lack of better seat and the king leaned forward on the throne.  He flashed Ian a wane smile.  “That’s a bit better.  I’m sorry, but you had this look in your eyes-- I was a Grey Warden, you know.  Helped stop the Blight and everything.  My.. my  _ brother  _ had that same look in his eyes before he tripped me and threw himself at the Archdemon on his own.”

“I uh knew..the uhm first bit.  I,” Ian tripped over his words, as he tried to make sense of  _ why _ the king was telling him this.  “It’s not quite that bad, but I do have to admit, I pondered bashing myself to death on one of the pillars when your routine entered.  It’s been one of those days.”

The king let out a snort at that, and Ian began to relax.  While, this all could still be some sort of elaborate plan to lull him into complacency before slitting his throat, he didn’t think so.  The king seemed far too genuine for that.  “I remember those days.  What am I saying?  I have those days constantly.  I’ll trade you.  How’d you like to rule Ferelden when I ride off and save the world again?”

Ian opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp cough cut him off.  A man with greying hair, who was doing his best to not look amused stared down at them.  “Alistair, what have we told you about trying to sell off the kingdom?”

“Teagan,” the king exclaimed and stood.  “That was fast.”

The man, Arl Teagan, apparently, rolled his eyes.  “I was standing just outside.”

“I..should be taking my leave,” Ian said as he heaved himself back up to his feet.   _ Maker _ but he was sore already.  The ride back to Haven was going to be torture.

His statement only drew their attention.  “I hear it is you that I have to thank for ridding my castle of the..infestation.”

Ian hesitated before nodding.  “Oh, I suppose so.  For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the..”  _ Tevinter magister driven insane by grief bound in service to a cult that served an unnamed god?   _ “Inconvenience.”

Arl Teagan’s face remained tight but he nodded.  “Your Inquisition and it’s new  _ allies _ will be hearing about that in the future.”

“That’s ominous,” Ian and King Alistair mumbled at the same time, then sent each other looks from under their lashes.

The king stepped forward and clasped Ian on the shoulder.  “Let’s leave Teagan to retaking his home.  I’m sure your friends are wondering by now if I’ve had you killed.  I’ll walk you to the door, hm?”

Ian could tell, that there was something else the king wanted to say, so he didn’t protest that he could find his way out.  Besides, it would be hard to explain just how he’d gotten so familiar with the layout of Redcliffe Castle in the short amount of time he’d been inside it.   _ Time travel. _  Sure enough, once they were out of range, the king motioned him closer.

“I’ve heard about you, Herald of Andraste, and by all accounts you’re a good man, so let me tell you what this world does to good men.  It takes everything you have, and spits back out an empty husk, if you’re even that lucky.  It’s well and good to do something for honor but..just don’t let it take you.”  

He had  _ that  _ look.  The one that Varric got while he was talking about Hawke, and Cassandra got while talking of the Divine.  It was the one that the Commander perpetually walked around with that broke Ian’s heart.  He sniffed and bit back on the fear, that soon, he’d be seeing that look in the mirror.  “I..thank you.  You’re not the first person to caution me about what being a hero really means..”

“And Maker willing, I won’t be the last.”  Some of the weight seemed to ease in the king’s shoulders, but gaze remained distant.  “Andraste guide you, Herald.  I’ll be in touch.”

He gave Ian one last pat on the back before turning to rejoin Teagan.  Ian blinked after him, then let his feet guide him out to the courtyard.  It was still night, and oh how that boggled the mind.  So much had happened, yet no time had passed.  Dorian approached with a smile.  “Seems you survived your royal audience.  How was it?”

“Confusing,” Ian answered truthfully.  “But his majesty doesn’t seem to harbor any ill will.  Both he and the Arl have promised to be in touch.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing.” Dorian’s head tilted to the side, and Ian found his eyes drifting to the line of the man’s neck before they snapped back up to his face.  “If not a bit daunting.  I took the liberty of explaining what happened to Cassandra.  She’s off to write a letter to Josephine to warn of our arrival.  Fiona’s people won’t be ready to leave for hours yet, but, we have been given use of a little hovel of a home, should you want to spend that time resting.”

Ian could have kissed him.  “Best news I’ve gotten all day.  You’re the new favorite.”

Dorian preened.  “Of course I am.  I’m me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Cullen POV this chapter, sorry!
> 
> I went from struggling with this chapter for over a week to marathoning over 2k of it out in a single setting. Muses are fickle sometimes I guess.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading, I wriggled a bit when it hit 42 kudos, as 42 is my favorite number!
> 
> In other news, I can now be found at a -new- blog. It wasn't worth it to me anymore to run a personal blog /and/ a gaming blog. I'm not the world's most active blogger, and most of the stuff that went to the personal was gaming related anyway. So! NOW I can be found @ sleepersith. All new posts about the fic, and Dragon Age in general can be found there.
> 
> Next Chapter: Let's go close the Breach!


	9. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes return to Haven to a not so heroic welcome. Arguments are had, but the Breach is sealed, and the day is saved. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for: In Your Heart Shall Burn  
> Also warnings for Cullen's complicated feelings about mages.

His nap did Ian a world of good.  It gave him the boost he needed to make it through the night, anyway.

Two hundred and fifty mages traveled with them from Redcliffe, and Ian scanned every single one of their faces for Logan.  There was so much going on, but it was like a low hum in the back of his mind that he just couldn’t get rid of.  Ian  _ needed _ to find his brother.

He even went so far to ask Fiona, but she didn’t know the name.

_ Ian needed to accept his brother was dead. _

The new failure soured his mood for the rest of the trip back to Haven.  Dorian and Varric both tried to cheer him up, but once he explained, they left him be.  Ian spent most of the trip trusting his horse to stay on the path as he tried to recreate the image of Logan’s face in his mind.

Painful as thinking about Logan was, it was still easier than trying to wrap his head around what happened in Redcliffe.

The Commander was waiting for them at the gates.  He flashed Ian a tired smirk before he stepped forward to address the assembling group.  “Welcome to the Inquisition.  I’ll attempt to keep this short as I’m sure that you’re all exhausted.  We’ve set some tents aside for your use.  The soldiers here will show you where to set them up, but I’m afraid you’ll be bunking three to a tent.”

A grumble went through the crowd at that.  “I thought that we were to be welcomed here as equals,” one voice called out over the den.  Ian slid down from his horse and came up to stand beside Cullen.

The Commander looked as if he’d swallowed something sour.  “You are.  I sleep in one of these tents, as do all of our soldiers.  Haven was not designed to house so many people at once.  I’m sure that you can appreciate that our supplies are few, and it’s up to all of us to make the best of what we have.”

Few of the mages looked pacified, but Ian had to hand it to Cullen for trying.  He was tired enough after all he’d gone through to get their support, that he would have just left them to sort themselves out.  Then again, considering what happened the last time they’d been left alone, it was a good thing that someone was taking charge.

The Commander just looked like he wished that it was anyone but him.

“What of the templars,” another mage asked.

The Commander rubbed a hand over his forehead, but looked resigned.  “Officially, there are no members of the Order in Haven.  However, we do have several former members in residence, and are always open to recruiting more.  The templars that are here have their own duties, and won’t interfere with yours unless you give them a reason to.”

“That’s what they said in the Circle!” Another voice rang out.

“Listen,” Ian cut in.  After all he’d gone through to get the mages to Haven to begin with, he wasn’t about to let things descend into a riot before they got anything done at all.  “I’m not saying what we have here is perfect, but there is an understanding between the mages and templars within Haven’s walls, that was hard won.  I’ve seen it in action, and I have the utmost faith that you can adapt.  We need to work together if we want to seal the Breach.”

“If the Herald’s word is not enough, then ask any mage in residence,” the commander added.  “For now, see to your tents.  Eat something, and get some rest.  We plan on moving on the Breach soon as we are able.”  He raked his fingers through his hair and gave the mages one last look before jerking his head towards the gate.  They turned as one and retreated into the peace of Haven.

“That was very moving, Commander.  Did you think it up on the spot?”  Dorian quipped with a smile from Ian’s left.

“Not you too,” Cullen groaned and shot Dorian a look so dirty that Ian couldn’t help but laugh.  “I will be the first to admit that I wasn’t the best suited for welcoming our new  _ allies _ this morning,” he continued.  “But I was the only one available, or so Leliana told me.”  The man looked like he had other thoughts about that but refrained from voicing them.

Ian took the opportunity to change the subject.  “Will you be joining us in the War Room, Dorian?”  They’d want to know what happened in Redcliffe and Ian wasn’t sure if he was up to telling the tale alone.  Besides, Dorian understood far more of what happened than Ian ever would.

“Not directly,” Dorian sighed.  “I wanted to have a word with Felix before he slipped off.  He  _ is _ free to go, is he not?”

Ian sighed, knowing that he was about to make another decision that might not be popular amongst the ‘council’.  “Of course he is.  Alexius is a prisoner of the Inquisition.  There’s nothing I can do about that, but you and Felix are free to go.”

To his surprise, Cullen didn’t even make a noise of disagreement; Dorian was the one to let out a considering hum.  He didn’t elaborate on why, so Ian gave a little inward shrug.  He supposed it made sense that Dorian would want to touch base with Felix as soon as possible though.  With little else to hold them here, it was likely that they would want to return to Tevinter and begin damage control from that end.

Ian pushed aside the pang he felt at that.  He and Dorian had worked well together on their little time traveling adventure.  They’d only known each other for a few days, but Ian felt that he was a kind of a kindred spirit.  They’d traded Tavern stories, for  _ Maker’s sake, _ and just relaxed in a way that Ian hadn’t been able to since the Conclave.  It was... _ nice. _

Dorian parted ways with them inside the Chantry.  He gave Vivienne a jaunty look as he strutted his way into the basement jail with his head held high.  Ian had no idea what that was about, but he couldn’t help but smile.

“We should speak later, Herald,” Vivienne spoke up once Dorian was out of sight.

“Of course, Madame Le Fer.  I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve brought the rebel mages back from Redcliffe with me.  Grand Enchanter Fiona is settling in with them.” 

“Yes,” Vivienne drawled.  “That is what I wanted to speak with you about.”  There was more vitriol in those ten words than Ian could muster even on a bad day.  Forget whatever was going on between Vivienne and Dorian, it was clear that her feelings about Fiona were far more interesting.

“I need to make my report, but afterwards?”  Ian was exhausted, but Vivienne hadn’t steered him wrong yet, and his curiosity aside, if she knew something about the leader of the rebel mages, he wanted to know it.

“Very well, darling.  I’ll be waiting.”

Ian nodded in her direction then walked the remaining steps to the backroom at a steady clip to avoid further delays.  Cullen’s presence at his back stopped being comforting the moment the door closed behind them.  It was time to face the jury then.  His shoulders slumped as he stepped into his place at the table.  “Alright.  Let’s get this conversation over with.”

 

______

 

Part of Dorian felt guilty over leaving the Herald to face the Inquisition’s leadership on his lonesome.   _ Dorian _ had complicated feelings about bringing Fiona’s lot in as equals, so he could only imagine how the inner council felt. The Commander certainly hadn’t looked happy.  So yes, it was with some guilt that Dorian veered off into the basement, but the stronger part of him wanted to be with his  _ family. _

Alexius pulled Dorian off the streets and took him in when even Dorian himself hadn’t thought he was worth anything.  He’d built Dorian up and transformed him from a sorry excuse of a drunken whore, into the powerful, confident mage he always should have been.  Felix was kind, even when Dorian wasn’t.  It caught Dorian off guard at the time; that someone could be kind without expecting anything in return.

They’d agreed never to speak of the first and last time Dorian attempted to  _ repay _ Felix for his kindness.

The guard gave Dorian a dirty look as he passed, but didn’t try to stop him or shove him into one of the empty cells.  It seemed, that the Inquisitor’s word was good, at least in this case.  Felix was curled up on a stool in front of the last cell in the row, with his head bowed and hidden in his hands.  He glanced up as Dorian approached, then double-taked.  “Dorian.”

“Felix,” Dorian echoed.  “What was that?  Did you not think I would come?”   


“Truth be told, I’ve been trying not to think.”

Alexius was curled up in the corner of the cell, and appeared to be asleep.  It was far more likely that he was keeping up a pretense to have an excuse to not speak with Dorian.  That was fine, for the moment, Dorian wasn’t here for Alexius.  He could sit and ruminate a while on the absolute  _ shit _ he’d dragged them all into.  At least Dorian’s bad life choices hadn’t hurt anyone but himself.

“It looks like you could use some fresh air, and perhaps some breakfast.  Why don’t you come join me for a meal, or what passes for one in this town.”  He didn’t phrase the request as a question on purpose, and willed Felix to agree with him.

Felix looked to the cell, then back up at Dorian as he rubbed his hands back over his crown.  His lips went tight as he stared for a long moment, then slumped once more.  “Alright.”

Dorian held up a hand and Felix took it.  “I’ll be back in a while, Father,” he told Alexius as he stood. Alexius said nothing.

Felix sighed.  Dorian squeezed his shoulder then took him by the arm to lead him from the room.  Again, the guard let them pass without comment, but followed their path with a suspicious gaze.  The suspicious gazes didn’t go away as they left the Chantry and made their way to the tavern.  It seemed what trust he’d been afforded while walking in the company of the Herald didn’t hold up while he was not.

Dorian held his head high, and nudged at Felix when he ducked down.  “Hold your head high.  You’re not guilty of anything.”

“Perhaps we should make it a drink, instead of a meal.  I don’t think I’m up for this today,” Felix sighed.

“Or, I can just take you someplace quiet so you can get some rest.”  Dorian went from annoyed to concerned in a breath’s span.  They’d traveled through the night to get back to Haven, and Felis  _ did _ look rather worn.  It was hard to tell how much of the fatigue was physical, and how much emotional.  Horrible as Dorian felt about Alexius’ betrayal of his ideals, Felix had to be feeling much worse.

“No, let’s just go on.”

They continued the rest of the short walk in silence.  The tavern was empty, as it was still early in the day, but the waitress was still there to attend them.  She didn’t smile at the Tevinter pair, but she brought them a bit of ale, and some bread all the same.  Felix stared blankly at his tankard until Dorian nudged him into taking a drink.  He winced as he swallowed and gave Dorian a dirty look.  “If I’d known you were going to order me pisswater, I’d have taken the option for rest.”

“Just try not to hold it in your mouth long before swallowing,” Dorian advised with a bit of a leer.  “It improves the more you drink of it.”

“I don’t think I want to drink more of it,” Felix huffed before reaching out for a piece of bread.  He picked a piece off it, but didn’t put it in his mouth.  “If you have more questions about what happened, I don’t have anything to tell you that I didn’t already.”

Dorian shook his head.  “No, my questions are more based on the future.  The Herald has assured me that you’re free to go, will you?”

Felix fiddled with his bread for a moment before answering.  “I think that I will.”  He looked up at Dorian.  “Someone needs to tell the magisterium what’s happening here.”

The answer was a bit surprising.  Felix was as loyal to Alexius as Alexius was to Felix, and Dorian knew that they wouldn’t be easily parted.  He had a feeling though, that his next sentence would come as even more of a surprise to Felix.  “I have decided to stay.”  He was right.  Felix startled, but Dorian pressed on.  “You’re right about the magisterium.  They need to know, but the both of  _ us _ know that they won’t send anyone until the end is certain.  Someone should be here to represent the Imperium before someone decides that we’re all evil maleficarum and come for us the moment they’ve cleaned up this Venatori mess.”

Felix’s surprise faded into a fond smile.  “Dorian,” he started.  “They already think that we’re all evil maleficarum.”

“All the more reason for me to stay,” Dorian chuckled.  He never should've doubted that Felix would understand his reasoning.  He had an uncanny way of knowing what Dorian  _ wasn’t _ saying.

The conversation seemed to stir up Felix’s appetite, as he began to eat the bread rather than tear it into pieces.  “Dorian Pavus, goodwill ambassador for Tevinter.  I never would have dreamed.  Do you think they’ll have you?”

“Do I think they’ll have me,” Dorian echoed, incredulous.  “Of course they’ll have me.  They’ve met me.”

They both laughed before Dorian continued.  “They’re meeting now about what happened in Redcliffe.  I’ll go announce my attentions before they break.  If they accept my generosity, I’ll stay.  If they don’t, I’ll return home with you.”  He waved his mug a bit as he said it, feigning nonchalance about the whole thing.  The truth was though, Dorian  _ wanted _ to help.

He wanted the adventure, and yes, the notoriety-- the chance to redeem the good name of his home.  Felix smiled over the rim of his tankard, as if he knew what Dorian was thinking, and he likely did.  “You should get on that then.  I’ll cover the tab here.”

He reached out for Dorian’s hand and gave it a squeeze.  Dorian twisted his arm around so he could grasp Felix’s wrist in return.  “Are you sure that you don’t want me to wait?” he asked as they let go.  Dorian took a moment to brace himself, then swallowed down the rest of his ale as Felix answered.

“No,” Felix reassured him.  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and,” he paused to suck in a deep breath.  “I think I need a moment before I go and break the news to father.”

That was understandable.  Alexius wouldn’t take the news of their pending separation well.  

Dorian set his tankard on the table and stood.  “Very well.  I’ll come find you again later.  No stealing off into the night like a thief, you hear me?”

Felix laughed at that.  “I never was the sneaky one.  I promise I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Reassured, Dorian gave Felix’s shoulder a squeeze before finding his way back outside.  The walk to the Chantry was a short one, and in contrast to before, no one paid Dorian any mind as he let himself inside. They weren’t even gathered in the back room.  The five of them were arguing right out in the open!

Dorian kept to the shadows as he approached the group.  It was a vice of his-- eavesdropping, but as far as vices went, at least it was an useful one.

“There will be abominations among the mages, we must be prepared.”  That was the commander.  That one had templar written all over him, and Dorian didn’t have any experience with the Southern lot.  Pretty to look at though.

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at the worst.”  And there was the diplomat, Josephine, or so Dorian believed.  She had a point.

The commander huffed, and turned on the Herald, who was being uncharacteristically quiet.  “What were you thinking turning mages loose with no oversight?  The veil is torn open!”

The uncharacteristic silence ended as the Herald growled.  “ _ You weren’t there,”  _ he said, as if he’d been repeating himself since he and Dorian had parted ways.  “We need them to close the Breach.  It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them!”  Dorian shifted forward to get a better look at the man.  My, wasn’t he splendid while angry.

Anger suited the commander as well.  It had been obvious, when he greeted them at the gates that he wasn’t comfortable with bringing the rebel mages into the fold, but judging from the way he was arguing now, he felt stronger on the subject than previously expected.  He didn’t back down.  “I  _ know _ we need them for the Breach, but if left unchecked---”

“Enough arguing.  Trevelyan is right.  We put him in the position to make the decision and he did.  It is done.”

Dorian took his chance.  From the way the commander was puffing up, they would be here all evening if something didn’t happen to change the subject.  He sauntered forward, inwardly smirking as all eyes turned on him, and leaned against the wall.  “The voice of pragmatism speaks, and here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

 

__________

 

_ You asked me to make a decision, and I made one!  If you don’t want to live with the decisions I make, then don’t put me in a position that I have to make them! _

Even hours later, Cullen’s head was still reeling from that afternoon’s discussion with the Herald.  For the first time, in Cullen’s presence at least, the man had lost his temper and snapped at well, Cullen.  Perhaps, rightfully so.  It was just.. _ hard _ for Cullen to let go.  He agreed that they needed the mages help,  _ and _ he agreed that the rebel mages were right to want change.  Cullen had been part of the problem.  He’d seen the mistreatment of mages firsthand, and had contributed to it even,  _ but _ he’d also seen the worst of what mages were capable of.  His body and mind still bore the scars.

It was an odd position to be in.  He wanted to help them, but also knew that absolute freedom  _ wasn’t _ the answer.  Things couldn’t be like they were before, but the Order  _ was _ still needed.  Cullen just didn’t know how to get that across.  Perhaps once the Breach was closed, the Order would come to it’s senses and they could meet halfway and try again.

If Dorian hadn’t diffused the situation with his well timed arrival, Cullen would have put his foot in it even more than he already had.  Strange thing, feeling indebted to a Tevinter mage.

He couldn’t help but brood on it as he led his troops along the path to the temple ruins once more.  It was their hope, that this would be the last time.

The haze that had settled in the ruins felt heavy.  It was oddly quiet and even the sounds of their footsteps seemed to be dampened-- swallowed by the void.  Despite the elevation there was no wind.  No, there was only the crunch of ash beneath their feet and the swirling vortex up above.

Cullen shivered as he stepped over a piece of crumbled wall, and into the boundary of the room where it all began.  Eerie as the rest of the ruins telf, it was so much worse up close.  He swallowed his discomfort and cleared his throat.  “Just as we discussed.  Soldiers around the perimeter on the bottom, mages and ranged around the top. The last time they fiddled around up here, a pride demon popped out, so let’s not take any chances.”

Cassandra and the Herald stepped around him, the latter offering him a wane smile.  “Fiddling and popping, Commander?”

Cullen flushed and turned back to join his men.  “Be ready for anything!”  WIth that he gave the Herald a nod, then joined the ranks.

Solas stepped forward and began to address the mages as the Herald stared up at the Breach.  He looked pale under the green light, but determined.  The same could be said for most present.

The heavy feeling in the air became cloying as the mages began to channel their power.  One by one they knelt and added a bit of themselves into the mix.  Around Cullen, his soldiers began to fidget as they very air around them hummed.  “Steady,” Cullen muttered, unsure if he was reassuring the men, or himself.

The Herald seemed to breathe the power in.  It made him glow with an inner light that shone from his skin and made the man appear almost ethereal.  If they survived today, stories would be told of the Herald of Andraste, and how he appeared in this moment.

The Herald breathed in, then out, and then in again before he raised his hand to the sky.  The green beam streaked forth like an arrow released from a bowstring.  It climbed upwards, impossibly high then higher still, until it struck true in the center of the Breach.   Cullen held his breath as he watched and prayed.  This was it.  This was their moment.  This was all they’d trained and fought for.

Time seemed to stretch and then still.  The entire world narrowed to that one thin beam that pierced the heavens then exploded.  Cullen flinched away from the blinding light as a voice cried out, muted, as if at a distance.  There had been no sound with the explosion of light, but Cullen’s ears rang all the same as his eyes burned.

Time passed, and the light faded behind Cullen’s eyelids.  Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned his gaze upwards.  The sight that greeted him almost took his breath away.  The Breach wasn’t gone, not entirely, but it was no longer a swirling vortex that threatened to rend their world into pieces.  What was left was almost beautiful, perhaps made more so by their apparent success. 

“A scar,” Solas explained as he too stared at the circle of green that still painted the sky.  “Perhaps in time, it will heal, or be torn anew, but for now, the Breach is sealed.”

A rallying cry broke through the quiet, dampered, if only by the mages’ exhaustion.  Cullen shared the mirth until he cast his eyes downward to find the Herald hunched over on his knees.  Cassandra knelt beside him as Cullen and Solas strode forward.

Trevelyan turned and offered Cassandra a wane smile as he straightened.  If Cullen thought the man had looked pale before, he was ghostly now.  “I’m alright,” he tried to reassure them.  “Better than usual, even.  Last time we did this I didn’t wake up for three days.  Now, help me up.”

Cassandra took one arm and Cullen the other, and they braced him between their bodies as Solas scanned him.  “He’s unharmed,” Solas confirmed.  “Merely exhausted.”

The Herald’s nose scrunched up.  “I could have told you that.  I  _ did _ tell you that.”

“It also seems he might be a bit punch drunk,” Solas continued, his smirk giving away his amusement at the situation.

Another cheer rang through the ruins as the Herald gave the men a tired wave.  He stumbled a little and fought Cullen and Cassandra’s hold, so they released him.  To Cullen’s surprise, he didn’t fall, but instead swayed on his feet.

The heavy feeling that plagued the temple grounds since the Conclave was all but gone.  Cullen believed that this place would always be touched by what happened.  Still, for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to feel optimistic.  Closing the Breach was a major victory-- hopefully the first of many.

“A reminder, of what we can accomplish when we put aside our differences and work together,” the Herald mumbled as he looked to the sky.  Cullen startled, then looked to the ground, sheepish.  Nothing about the Herald’s demeanor implied that it was a pointed statement, but Cullen felt it was directed at him all the same.  The Herald repeated it louder for all gathered to hear, and a third cheer rang out.

Trevelyan stumbled, then turned.  His smile was bright as he looked at those closest to him.

Cullen’s gut fluttered; or was that his heart?

“Let’s go home, and share the good news.”

The trip back to Haven was slower going than the trip to the temple.  Though going downhill into the valley was less demanding, the Herald and many of the mages were falling all over themselves.  The Herald wasn’t the only one feeling a bit punch drink either.  Cullen could hear giggling and laughing among the ranks, and even though their pace was slow, their morale was high.

The Herald kept humming the same four bars of a tune that Cullen knew well enough to know that he’d rather not hear the man sing those four bars the same way.

By the time they reached Haven, most of the Herald’s weight was supported by Cullen as he dragged the man through the gates.   The news of their victory had preceded them.  They were met at the gates with a cheering crowd that Cullen and the others had to push their way through to get to the Herald’s quarters. 

The entire time Cullen desperately tried not to think about the brush of hair against his neck.  There was no denying it anymore, not to himself at least.  Cullen was attracted to Ian Trevelyan.

Tendency to get embarrassed aside, Cullen didn’t think or sex or attraction all that often.  There had been a few times, before everything went to hell in Ferelden, and once, after everything in Kirkwall.  The first had been little more than fumbling between two clueless templar recruits in the dark, and the latter, well that had been about taking comfort where one could find it.  It was hard  _ not _ to think about it with the Herald nuzzling up to him as he was.  Cullen turned red at the first brush of stubble against his cheek.  “Alright, to bed with you.”

“Taking me to bed, Commander?  I approve, but only if you come with me,” Trevelyan slurred, sounding more like Dorian Pavus than himself.

“I..you,” Cullen stammered before biting down on his tongue.  Maker preserve him.  He always got these ridiculous crushes on the most inappropriate people.

Cassandra and Varric were laughing at him.  It was the first time he’d witnessed them agree on anything, and of course it was at his expense.  He supposed, he should just feel lucky that Josephine and Leliana weren’t in earshot; or Dorian.  Anyone else, really.

He huffed, and pulled the Herald through the doorway of his quarters, then slammed the door behind him.

“Ooh, privacy,” Trevelyan laughed before all but faceplanting on the bed.

He seemed perfectly content to sleep in his armor, but Cullen couldn’t just leave it alone.  He knew from experience how painful it could be, and he had a feeling that the Herald would be sore even without the added injury.  It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done for an injured soldier before, of course he didn’t have inappropriate attachments to most of his injured soldiers.

Cullen worked on Trevelyan’s boots first, then his pauldrons, and on to his chestplate.  The other man remained quiet through the entire process, only rousing occasionally, then drifting back off with a small sigh.  That was…

The Herald was down to his chain and gambeson.  Good enough.

Cullen fled.

 

_____

 

Ian woke sometime later to a party going on outside his door.

He pulled on his armor-- and how did that get off anyway?  He didn’t remember much after coming through the gates-- then pushed the door open.  Out of habit, more than anything, Ian made his way to the ledge overlooking Varric’s fire, and peered down to where the villagers were laughing and dancing.

Well, it was good that they were happy, but for some reason, Ian was uneasy.  

Cassandra joined him moments later.  “Everyone will be glad to see you are awake,” she commented with a small smile.  “You were rather..uninhibited earlier.”

“Oh don’t tell me that,” Ian groaned.  He could only imagine what he’d gotten up to.  Actually, no, he had some rather vivid memories of things he’d gotten up to while uninhibited.  “Well, I didn’t proposition you, or you wouldn’t be smiling at me.”

“No, only the Commander.”

Ian groaned again.  Of course he had.

“But to be fair,” Cassandra continued.  “I believe that you thought he’d propositioned you first.”

Now there was a thought, but Ian brushed it off.  Cullen couldn’t even talk about  _ cuddling _ without stammering and blushing.  “So, we succeeded,” he pressed on, not even trying for subility as he changed the subject.  If all he’d done was flirt a little, there was nothing to worry about.  He would just apologize to the Commander whenever he saw him next, and then, with any luck, they would forget it ever happened.

“We did, but still, we must be careful,” Cassandra cautioned.  “For some, that will mean our alliance is over, but there is still..”

The ringing of the warning bell from the forward camp cut through the night cutting Cassandra off.  They both straightened and stared out into the valley, trying to find the unseen threat.  The sounds of joy from the party became panicked yelling as the soldiers in the village rushed for the gates.  The Commander followed, yelling out orders as he went.

“Forces approaching!  To arms!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is really late. It's been a busy couple of weeks, and I fought really hard with most of this chapter. I'm still not very happy with it, but I think it's time to move on.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading! The fic hit 666 hits last night, and gave me a wonderful _hur hur_ moment before bed.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @ sleepersith. Feel free to come and chat!
> 
> Next Chapter: As Varric puts it, "Shit."


	10. Unmaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is sealed, but the victory party is crashed by some unwanted guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for In Your Heart Shall Burn.

**Chapter Ten**

 

“Get the villagers to the Chantry,” the Commander ordered.  “The rest of you to the gates!”

Ian didn’t wait to see if he was supposed to help evacuate, or if he was supposed to go to the gates.  He drew his blade and strode forward to the gates, with Cassandra close at his heels.  They met the others there--Cullen and Josephine with a small group of soldiers, then Dorian and Varric running up to join them from the Tavern.  Cullen dispatched the soldiers to protect weak points in the village’s wall, then explained.  “One watchguard reported, a massive force is headed over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine questioned.

“None,” Cullen shrugged, sounding bewildered.  Ian could see the man’s throat work as he swallowed the emotion down, then suggested to Josephine, “You should get to the Chantry.  Do what you can to keep the villagers calm.  We’ll do what we can to ride this out.”

Josephine bit her bottom lip, but squared her shoulders and turned to leave.  “Maker protect you.”

Ian watched her go for a moment, but then something turned his attention to the gates once more.

The heavy doors of the gate were closed, but a heavy pounding and a plea of “Please open!  I can’t come in if you don’t open!” had Ian ordering them open.  The guards behind him tensed as the doors seemed to move in slow motion until they revealed what was on the other side.  What Ian found gave him pause.  There was a boy, well a man, though no more than twenty standing alone, surrounded by the corpses of men in templar armor.  “Wha--who are you?”

“I’m Cole,” the boy replied.  “I came to warn you.  I almost didn’t make it in time.  There are people coming to hurt you, but I guess you already knew that.”

“Yes, I could see where this would be cutting it a bit close,” Ian drawled.  He was in almost in hysterics.  There was a horde approaching and here he was having a conversation with..Cole. 

Dorian came up beside Ian, with Cassandra close behind.  “There’s something strange about him,” the former said with a frown.

“We don’t have time to debate,” Cassandra hissed in return.  “We need to get the gates closed.  They won’t hold the invading forces off for long, but they will buy us time to get the civilians to..safety.”  The hitch in her tone before safety was telling.  Cassandra could see as well as Ian could that they were woefully underprepared for such a force.  At best they were rounding up the civilians for a quick death with the invaders razed the Chantry to the ground.

Cullen joined them.  “So much for the Order coming to its senses,” he drawled, his eyes glued to the bodies of the templars strown before their gates.  He seemed defeated already.  His shoulders slumped forward and he rubbed his fingers over his bracers.  “I can’t believe that their answer to our going to the mages is to blindly attack.”

“Yes,” Cole agreed, though to what Ian didn’t know.  “The Red Templars.  They went to the Elder One.  Do you know him?  Because he knows you.  You took his mages.  There!”  Cole pointed into the distance, and the gathered group turned their eyes to the hill on the distance.  Ian could barely make out the figure there, adorned in red armor with his sword raised.  A second, far more troubling figure joined the first.  It seemed to appear out of the very mists, and towered over the first.  Ian’s eyes widened and he felt chilled down to his very soul.

He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did.  This was the Elder One, and he was coming for Ian.

“Samson?” Cullen cried out, but Ian payed him no mind.

“Get the gates closed,” he cried out, on the edge of panic.  When he drew his gaze back downwards, there were advancing templars close enough that Ian could see their features.  The soldiers manning the doors, jumped to attention and slammed the heavy wood panels closed.  “We will weather this for as long as we have to.”

_ They were all going to die. _

“Cole.  You said you came to help.  We need to get the civilians to cover.” Ian’s words came out in short clipped sentences as he tried to keep from panicking, himself.  Cullen was already addressing their troops.  From the way he spoke, you never would have known that he’d protested so strongly over the mages and their freedoms.  Ian didn’t know if that was acceptance, or desperation.  “Find the Iron Bull, you can’t miss him.  He’s huge; horns out to here.  Tell him, and the Chargers to make sure Adan and the others at the Tavern get out.  Have them evacuate that entire section, then guard the Chantry.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, yes I can do that.  I can help.”  With that affirmation, the boy disappeared, and Ian couldn’t even bring himself to feel startled.  Whatever Cole was, it was the least of his problems at the moment.  A heavy thud echoed against the gate.  They were coming through.

“Sir,” A voice rang out.  “We’re being overrun at the trebuchet!”

“Shit,” The Commander cursed.  He looked at their assembled group, and Ian knew the conundrum.  The gates would soon be overrun as well.  There just weren’t enough soldiers to spare.

“You stay here, I’ll go.  We’ll keep it running as long as we can, then fall back to the Chantry.”  

Cullen was tight lipped, but agreed.

“I’ll go with you,” Cassandra volunteered.

“And me,” Varric added, giving her a dirty look.

Ian turned to Dorian last.  The mage was already casting spells on the gate to strengthen the wood.  “Oh well I suppose,” he drawled, as if Ian was asking him if he wanted to go for dinner.  The smile he flashed Ian afterwards more than made up for his tone.  He cast one more spell on the splintering wood, then joined the other three. 

“Maker help you,”  Cullen called out after them as they departed.  “Maker, help us all.”

Ian couldn’t help but repeat the sentiment to himself.  Even in Redcliffe, he’d never felt so close to death.  Fighting off a few demons was one thing, but he was in no way prepared for open warfare.  He didn’t even know where his shield was, and his sword felt tiny and useless in his hands.  What had even possessed him to remain in the battle?

But Ian knew that he wouldn’t have been content to sit in the Chantry either.  Like Cole, he wanted to help.  He didn’t want to just be a mascot for the Inquisition, only of use when a rift was about.  He steeled himself with that thought, and when the trebuchet came into sight, he let out a fierce cry, and threw his body into the fray.

 

__________

 

_ Were you a comrade once? _

Cullen roared and cut down the first man that came through the gates, and then the next.  The Inquisition’s forces began to rush forward out the open doors, with Cullen leading the charge.  They had to keep the invaders away from the village for as long as they could.  One of the trebuchets fired, but did little to stop the oncoming flow of battle.

_ Did I share dinner with you?  A bunk? _

Each cut and bash, rocked Cullen to the bone.  The invading templars attacked without pause or care for themselves.  They were almost mindless in their quest to press forward into Haven.  There was no care for tactics, or even use of their abilities.  If not for their sheer numbers, Cullen might have fooled himself into thinking they had a chance.  At this pace, however, the Inquisition’s forces would soon tire, while the Red Templars seemed to have an overabundance of energy to go along with their strength and rage.

The stone sailed into a mountainside, and upset the snow there, causing a small avalanche that quickly began to overrun the templars still in the pass.

Well.  Perhaps they did have a chance, but Cullen wasn’t ready to declare victory just yet.

The sounds of battle around Haven began to die off.  “Scour the village.  Kill any that are left,” he ordered with a heavy heart.  After the battle at the gates, Cullen held out no hope that the Templars would surrender.  They were driven with a power he couldn’t understand, but that he could  _ see _ in the red glow of their eyes.  One of the stories the Herald brought back with him from Redcliffe was of the Red Lyrium, and how it grew and corrupted.  He witnessed it for himself in Meredith, though he hadn’t known it at the time.

Lyrium gave templars their powers, but red lyrium twisted them into monsters.

A screech broke through the night and drew all eyes to the sky.  A massive shadow overtook Haven, and then with another screech, rained fired onto the town.  With every flap of the creature’s wings, the ground seemed to tremble and Cullen’s heart sank.

Haven was burning, and it was a scene straight out of Cullen’s nightmares.  Templars were one thing, but a dragon was another. 

“Fall back to the Chantry,” he ordered, even as he continued to linger by the gates.  The Herald and his group were still out there, or so he hoped.  The men hesitated, so Cullen hissed, “Go!” even as another screech made his ears ring.

He would wait as long as he had to, but as luck would have it, he didn’t have to wait long.  “Fall back to the Chantry,” Cullen repeated again for the Herald, and the man didn’t even break stride as he started up the path.  One by one the the group passed through the door, then Cullen pushed what was left of the heavy wood closed-- for what little good it would do against a dragon. 

They jogged up the path, helping straggling soldiers where they could.  The avalanche might have bought them time, but it became clear that the Red Templars would not be so easily stopped.  Without the guards at the perimeter, they pushed their way through the weak spots in Haven’s defenses and filled the streets.

“Yeah!  Come on then!” The Iron Bull roared as he swept his maul into a group of Templars.  The Chargers were doing a good job of keeping the path near the Chantry clear, even under the thread of dragon fire.

“Make them work for it!” Cullen couldn’t helped but add as he slipped through their line, then turned back to face the destruction.

“Damn straight we are,” the Bull cheered in answer.

Inside the Chantry was a far more somber atmosphere.  The villagers and soldiers that had managed to make it inside were huddled together.  Some were crying, and some were praying.  Cullen didn’t blame them.  They were going to need a miracle to survive this.  More trickled in behind Cullen and the Herald as Chancellor Roderick ushered them inside.

“Move, keep going!  The Chantry is your shelter.”

No sooner were they inside, the Chancellor collapsed.  He would have hit the floor, had the strange boy from the gates not been there to catch him.  “He tried to stop a templar,” the boy explained, as he helped Roderick out of the doorway.  “The blade went deep.  He is going to die.”

They were all going to die, Cullen thought to himself, though he didn’t dare voice it.  What came out of his mouth instead was more optimistic, though not by much.  “Our positioning isn’t good.  That dragon stole back any time you earned us.”

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” the boy added, seemingly talking to no one in particular.  “I was in the Fade, but it looks like that.”

Cullen didn’t even want to begin to wrap his mind around that statement.  They didn’t have the time for maybe archdemons and boys who have been in the Fade.  “I don’t care what it looks like.  What matters is it’s cut a path for that army.  They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village, he only wants the Herald.”

From the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Ian startle.  His thought process was painfully obvious as his surprise turned into a clenched jaw and a resolute glare.  Cullen’s stomach rebelled against it.  He already knew what his  _ friend _ was going to say next.  So, did Dorian.  He shifted closer to the Herald as Ian licked his lips and then said it.  “If it will save these people, then he can have me.”

“It won’t,” Cole shook his head.  “He wants to kill you; no one else matters, but he will crush them.  Kill them anyway.  I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like him?” Cullen was losing his patience.  The battle had been sour from the start, and it was no one’s fault but his own.  He should have foreseen it somehow, that they would be attacked.  They should have been prepared, but they weren’t, and there was nothing left to do but take out as many of the enemy as they could before succumbing.  “Herald,” he began, hating what he was about to suggest.  “There are no tactics to make this survivable.  The only thing that slowed them, was the avalanche.  If we turn the remaining trebuchets; cause one last slide.”

The Herald frowned as he followed Cullen’s line of reasoning.  “We’re overrun.  To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“You can’t mean to kill us all,” Dorian protested.

“We’re dead anyway,” Cassandra replied, blunt, as ever.

It was nothing that Cullen hadn’t been telling himself since the war horn first sounded.  “We die, but we decide now.  Many don’t get that choice.”

No one looked too happy at the current plan, but they weren’t offering alternatives either.  They had a chance to go out fighting, but Cullen wasn’t going to force the decision either.

“Boss,” Bull called from outside.  “It’s getting heavy out here!”

The Herald was resolute when he offered up his own life, but now he was conflicted.  “Hold as long as you can,” he called in return.  “Fall back if you need to, but we have a plan.  Just give us a little longer!”

“I’ll go outside and help,” Varric volunteered as he drew Bianca.  He reached out and squeezed the Herald’s arm.  “Whatever you decide, I’ve got your back, kid.”

“Not a kid,” the Herald huffed out with a soft laugh, that sounded more like a sob.  It was easy to forget that Ian wasn’t a soldier.  He had little training, and before the Conclave had never seen battle.  He shouldered it all so well; far better than Cullen had during his first trial by fire.

“Yes, that.”  Cole’s softer tone drew Ian’s attention then Cullen’s in turn.  He and Roderick were staring back, at one of the doors toward the rear of the Chantry.  “Roderick can help.  He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path,” the older man bit out, his voice weak with pain.  “You wouldn’t know it, unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage as I have.”  He whimpered and huffed, as he used the chair for support and pushed himself up.  “ _ She _ must have shown me.  Andraste must have showed me so I could tell you.”

Roderick took a stumbling step towards the Herald, who reached out to steady the wounded man.  The two men locked eyes, before Ian turned back towards Cullen.  “What about it, will it work?”

Cullen was more than willing to try, but it still left one issue.  Someone would have to stay behind to fire the trebuchet, and he  _ knew  _ who was going to volunteer for that duty without even asking.  It wouldn’t be the first time Ian offered up his life in exchange within the span of a single conversation.  “Possibly, if he shows us the path, but what of your escape?”

Ian locked eyes with Cullen for just a moment before he turned away.  He stepped to the side and ushered Roderick towards Cullen.  Cole, moved silently, like a ghost, to accept Roderick’s weight, but the man wasn’t quite ready to leave the Herald’s side.  He reached out to clasp Ian’s arm once more.  “If you were meant for this, if the Inquisition was meant for then, then I pray for you.”

Ian’s brow furrowed then he gave Roderick a nod.  “Thank you. Cullen.  Get them out of here.”

Cullen’s own lips were tight as he turned towards the huddled groups of villagers and soldiers.  “Everyone!  Gather what you can.  Take anything that’s not bolted down, then follow Chancellor Roderick!  Quickly now!  We don’t have much time!”  The soldiers responded to his tone and jumped into action, spurring the villagers to follow suit.  

His orders given, Cullen turned back Ian.  He reached out and clasped the man’s arm.  “For what it’s worth.  I am glad to have met you, and though we’ve only known each other for a short time, I am equally glad to call you a friend.  Perhaps, you will surprise it somehow.”

Cullen was surprised himself when Ian reeled him in for a quick hug.  “Thank you Commander, no, Cullen.  Now go.  Lead our people to safety.”

“Until we meet again, Ian.”  Cullen released him and stepped back.   With that one sentence, the Herald, no, Ian, was entrusting Cullen with their survival; Cullen, who had already failed their people so spectacularly.  Well, not again.  Though it was hard, he turned and joined his troops in raiding the Chantry’s stores.

They would survive this.

 

_______

 

“Well, that was touching,” Dorian drawled as he came up alongside the Herald.  “I might shed a tear.”

“Do you want a hug too?” the Herald quipped back as he gave Dorian a side-long glance.

“I wouldn’t mind one,” Dorian pouted.  “But you’ll have to save it for later.  We have a job to do.”

Things were escalating at an exponential pace.  He’d been enjoying a drink with Varric and Felix in the tavern when the warning horn had sounded, and from there on out everything was a mess of combat and failed plans.  They’d gone from victorious to dead within the passing of a few hours, and Dorian’s head was spinning with it all.  He hadn’t paid attention to all of it.  Once they made it into the Chantry, he’d been more worried about Felix and Alexius, but he had caught on to the fact that his newest friend was about to head out alone, on a suicide mission.

Dorian wasn’t going to let that stand.

“ _ We?” _ the Herald echoed.

“We’re going with you,” Cassandra answered for both of them as she pushed the doors to the Chantry open once more.  Ian hurried after her, then Dorian after him.  Outside, the Chargers were still fighting to keep the area directly in front of the Chantry clear.  Cassandra drew her sword and threw herself into the battle as she ordered,  “Bull, recall your men,  We’re evacuating through the Chantry.”

“Sure thing, Seeker.  Boss?”

“Go Bull, and thank you.  You and the Chargers have done well.  You bought us the time we needed.”  The Herald offered the Bull a pained smile.  “Get on inside.  Cullen will fill you in on the plan.”

Dorian had to hand it to the Qunari.  He knew something was up, something was up but he didn’t question it, or insist that he was still fit for battle.  Reluctant, he stored his weapon, then reached out to give the Herald’s shoulder a squeeze. “Chargers!  Retreat!  Watch his back, Vint.”

“Uncalled for,” Dorian huffed.  The mercenaries fell back, and Dorian was forced to draw his own weapon to help cover their retreat.  The templars were resistant to his magic, to the point they were almost harder to fight than the demons were.  Still, his lightning spells seemed to at least stun them for a small amount of time.

Varric came up alongside him.  “So what is the plan then,” he asked as he fired another round of bolts into the chest of a templar.

“We’re helping the Herald clear the way to one of the trebuchets,” Dorian explained.

“After which, you are leaving through the tunnels like everyone else,” the Herald ground out as he brought his sword down upon the templar to finish him off.  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but there’s no reason for all four of us to die.”

“It’s only a probable death.  I’m sure there’s a small chance of survival between the dragon and the impending avalanche.”

“We’re wasting time,” Cassandra added as she dispatched a templar of her own.

Dorian huffed.  So much for giving the man a pep talk.  To be fair, he wasn’t much looking forward to facing probable death either, but he wasn’t about to just leave the man to die alone.  They’d been through too much together for that.

If only he’d had the time to work out Alexius’ time magic.

“Fine,” the Herald bit out.  His shoulders slumped as he accepted defeat.  The four of them moved into a formation together, not unlike the one they’d fallen into while fighting their way through Redcliffe Castle.  The Varric and Cassandra of now, might not have been the ones they fought with then--or would fight with in the future that didn’t exist, time travel was still confusing-- but they had the same instincts.  

“Lead the way, Herald,” Varric urged, but the man stopped short.

He swallowed and glanced down at the ground conflicted.  “Please.  I.. if I’m going to do this.  Call me Ian.”  The despair in his tone gave Dorian pause.  Said that way, with that pleading look, Dorian would have agreed to anything.

“Of course,” he agreed for the lot of them.  “Lead the way, Ian.  Before the next wave pushes us back, hm?”

It was surprising, but they didn't meet with much resistance as they made their way through the town.  There were pockets of templars, here and there, but nothing overwhelming.  It was strange enough to fill Dorian with a sense of foreboding as they fought their way back through the ruined gates towards the last trebuchet standing.

The dragon was likewise, nowhere in sight.

Still, Dorian’s energy was beginning to wane when they finally made it to the trebuchet.  Ian threw down his sword, and jumped up the platform.  He threw his entire body into turning the crank.  The trebuchet lurched into motion, but it was turning to slow.  Dorian was about to jump up and help the man, when they were onset by another group of templars.

“Don’t stop,” Cassandra ordered as she slid her sword into the neck of an unlucky attacker.  “We’ll keep them off of you.”

Dorian cast a hasty barrier then readied himself to work another series of spells.

It was almost beautiful, in a kind of morbid way.  This was their last stand; the kind of thing bards sang about.  There would be stories of the way the moonlight reflected off the red crystals that ate at their enemies, and of how the Herald of Andraste and his companions painted the ground just as red with their blood.  “When they write songs of this,” Dorian yelled into the fray.  “There had better be an entire verse dedicated to the gloriousness of my arse!”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Varric yelled back as he shot a templar that was attempting to get between them and Ian.

Ian groaned, but flashed them both a smile as he heaved the crank around once more.  “Only a verse?  It deserves it’s own song!”

“The only thing they’re going to write a song about is how idiotic you all are,” Cassandra hissed, though Dorian imagined her tone was rather fond, well what passed for fond anyway.

Despite their best efforts, they were getting overrun.  For all the templars that hadn’t been in Haven proper, there were twice as many bearing down on them now.  It took longer than it should have to get the trebuchet into position, and the longer they went, the harder it became to keep the templars at bay.  Failure was not an option.

_ And then it was quiet. _

A screech filled the air, then fire filled Dorian’s vision.  He dove down to the ground and covered his head to protect it from the flames.  The dragon was back.  The ground shook as it landed and began to stalk towards them.

“Go.  Now, run!” Ian ordered as he rolled onto his stomach and tried to push up from the ground.  He seemed weak, dazed, and Dorian lurched half towards him instead of away as he found his feet.  Ian’s gaze hardened as he saw the aborted motion.  “You all promised you would go when I said.  So go!”

They’d known this moment would come, but not like this.  He hesitated still.  There had to be something they could do still, but Cassandra hooked one arm through his, and then her other caught Dorian’s shoulder, and she was dragging them away.  Dorian cursed and fought, but as he stumbled backwards he was able to catch the look of relief that crossed the other man’s face.

“Thank you,” Ian mouthed to him, before he turned to meet his fate.

Dorian closed his eyes and let out a breath.  It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

He shook off Cassandra’s hold and twisted around so he could run proper.  There were still templars between them and the Chantry, but Cassandra attacked them with a viciousness that shocked even Dorian.  Varric cursed between every breath, but they didn’t dare turn back or slow down.

They made it to the Chantry before a scream pierced the air.  They hesitated then, just beyond the door.  “Should we…” Dorian began, but didn’t even know how to finish the thought.  They should have stayed.  They all knew it.

Cassandra frowned over her shoulder.  “I… he wanted to face this alone.  We.  We should keep faith in him.”

“Screw faith,” Varric bit out.  “He doesn’t deserve to go out this way.  Shit.”

“We always knew that he was going to stay behind,” Cassandra snipped in return.  “And we knew he was going to force us to leave.  We should find the path, before he drops the mountain on Haven.”

“If he’s even alive to do so,” Dorian sighed, as he followed Cassandra through the Chantry.  None of them knew where they were going, really, but the other evacuees had left a path of debris in their wake that was easy enough to piece together.

Cassandra frowned, and picked up a small straw and burlap doll that had been left behind in the confusion.  “He is,” she said without room for argument as she stared down at forlorn toy.  “He has never given me any reason to doubt my faith in him before, and he won’t start now.  If you do not believe, then I will just have to do so enough for all of us.”

Even Varric had nothing to say to that, and they fell into a tense silence as they made their way down a winding staircase into what appeared to be a secondary cellar.  From there, along the far edge of the wall was a tunnel, lit by a pair of braziers.  Cassandra took one, then Dorian the other as they pressed onwards.  

For once in his life, Dorian didn’t feel like filling the silence.  He hadn't known Ian for long, but the man was one worth admiring.  Throughout their trials, Ian had kept up a good humor and had displayed a willingness to do whatever needed done, even if what needed done would lead to his death.  If life was fair, Dorian would be treating him to a drink right now, and perhaps attempting to talk him into bed.  Life wasn’t fair, however, and they weren’t even going to have a body to burn.

The ground suddenly shook with such a force that Dorian stumbled into the wall.  Ice fell from the top of the tunnel and rained down on their heads.  After a moment, the rumbling stopped and the world fell silent once more.

“That would be the avalanche then,” Varric guessed.  He sighed as he looked back into the darkness of the tunnel.  They waited there, barely daring to breathe and not daring to hope to hear the sounds of footsteps approaching behind them.  If he somehow managed to evade the dragon, and whatever else had come at him after their retreat, it wasn’t too much to hope that Ian found a way to survive the avalanche as well, was it?

Dorian had no idea how long they waited there before Cassandra drew herself up-- always ready to be the bad guy, and the voice of reason.  “We should go. Met up with the others and.. Let them know what has happened.”  She seemed resigned, defeated even, as she turned and faced the end of the tunnel.

“What happened to  _ have a little faith _ ?” Varric bit out.

Cassandra spun on him.  “I am  _ not _ giving up on him, but we gain nothing by staying here.  The others deserve to know, that at least for now that the danger has passed.  We  _ need _ to turn our eyes to the future.”

“Children,” Dorian chided, as little as he wanted to get between the two of them.  “Let’s get moving.”  He was just so  _ tired. _  Perhaps, it would be better if he returned home to Tevinter with Felix.  The idea of staying in the South had somehow lost it’s luster.

 

________

Ian smiled with relief as he watched his friends retreat.  It still might not be enough to save them, but still, he felt better knowing he was at least giving them a chance.  He’d expected to feel afraid, after having them leave.  That’s what any sane person would feel, right?  While facing their own certain death?

All he had to do was evade the dragon long enough for Cullen’s signal.   _ Easy. _

Who was Ian kidding?  Ian pushed himself up to his knees in time to see a figure emerge through the wall of flame.  Even larger up close than he’d appeared at the great distance, the spindled and stretched form of what could only be the Elder One came into focus.  He didn’t look human, but somehow did.  Ian scrambled the rest of the way to his feet and began to back away, only to be nearly sent from his feet once more by the rumbling of the dragon charging towards him.

The creature was as decayed and  _ wrong _ as it’s master was.  Cole’s words about it being an archdemon echoed through Ian’s head.  There were no lips, or even skin to hide it’s teeth from view, as it snapped and growled at Ian.  Any relief he felt earlier was replaced by desperation.  Surviving long enough to fire the trebuchet now seemed like an impossible task.

“Enough,” the Elder one commanded as Ian spun to face him once more.  “Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your keen no more.”

Ian tried to control his shaking as he edged closer to the trebuchet.  Signal or no, he was going to have to take any chance he could to fire the machine.  “So, you’re the Elder One,” he drawled, his attempt at bravado sounding weak to even his own ears.  “Architect of all... _ this. _ ”

“Do  _ not _ call me an  _ Architect _ ,” the Elder One hissed.  “ _ He _ was nothing but an old fool. Mortals beg for truth they cannot have.  It is beyond what you are, what I was.  Know me.  Know what you have pretended to be.  Exalt, the Elder One.  The  _ will _ that is Corypheus.  You  _ will kneel. _ ”

“The hell I will,” Ian bit back before he could stop himself.  Years of sniping at his father while the man had tried to control him, led to this very moment.  Father had always said, that Ian’s mouth was going to get him killed.  Ian took a little comfort in the fact that his father would never know how right he was.  “I have pretended to be  _ nothing.” _

“And  _ nothing _ is what you are,” Corypheus purred. “I am here for the anchor.  The process of removing it begins now.”

Ian had no time to react.  Corypheus lifted an orb with one hand, as he cast a spell with the other.  A force he could not see seemed to lock around the palm of his hand and  _ pull. _  Ian hissed and sealed his other hand around his wrist, as if it would help him pull back against the force.

“This is your fault  _ Herald. _  You interrupted a ritual years in the making, and instead of dying, you stole it’s power.”  Corypheus pulled harder, and Ian’s hand erupted in pain.  The mark flared and pulsed as it sent wave after wave of pain down Ian’s nerves and lit them in bright green.  “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched, what you flail about at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”  The pain flared again, and sent Ian to his knees.

He was back in the Chantry prison, looking up through blurry eyes as Cassandra explained that the mark was killing him, just as sure as the Breach was tearing the world apart.

Ian survived the pain then, enough to fight his way to the Breach itself.  He could do it now.  “What..what is this thing meant to do?”

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none.  For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.”  Corypheus took three hulking steps towards Ian, and sealed his long fingers around Ian’s wrist before  _ lifting. _  Ian couldn’t hold it in, he screamed.  He could feel his bones shifting and muscles straining as his body tried to compensate for being held aloft by a limb already made weak with pain.  It culminated in a  _ pop _ that was followed by more agony as his shoulder shifted out of place.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another; to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person.  I found chaos and corruption.  Dead whispers.  For a thousand years I was confused but no more.  I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own.  To champion Tevinter and correct this blighted world.  Pray, that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.” 

Ian could barely hear the  _ creature’s _ words over the din of pain.  It thundered in his ears and made him choke on the rising bile in his throat, but still it was in no comparison to when Corypheus used the injured limb to  _ throw _ him.  Ian’s back slammed into a stack of wooden planks hard enough to splinter them.  His blood roared in his ears and his vision dimmed, but still Ian clung to consciousness as tightly as he could.  It would be too easy to give up now, and let Corypheus kill him.

“The anchor is permanent.  You have spoiled it with your stumbling.”

There had to be a way.  Ian sucked in a stuttering breath as he realized where Corypheus had thrown him.   _ He was on the trebuchet platform. _  With one shaking arm, and the other hanging useless at his side, Ian pushed himself to his feet.  He stumbled, and had to lean back against the remaining planks.  There to his was the lever.  All he had to do was throw it, but were the others far enough away?

Corypheus was still talking, but Ian’s attention was on the sky.  It was as if Cullen knew he was watching, because at that very moment, the signal flare went up.  They were clear.  Ian allowed himself a small smile as he gathered every bit of remaining energy he had left.  He clung to the pain to keep himself aware, and brought his attention back to the monsters before him.

“I will not suffer even an an unknowing rival.  You must die.”

“Like hell I will,” Ian spat, repeating his words from earlier as blood and spittle splattered over his chin.  “If I die, it’s not today.”  He turned and put everything he had into kicking the lever.  The crank spun, and the trebuchet fired.  Ian didn’t wait to see where the hit landed.  He broke out into a run, leaving Corypheus and his dragon to their own fates.  If he could just make it to cover…

The snow caught up with him far before Ian could even make it to the gates.  The force of the incoming avalanche knocked him off his feet and threw him into the air as if he was nothing more than a ragdoll.  Pain flared through his body once more, and stole him into the darkness before his body even hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! This one was fun, but still kind of hurt to write.
> 
> I can be followed on tumblr @ sleepersith
> 
> Next chapter: The aftermath.


	11. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen does something nice and is unprepared for the consequences, and Ian finds his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some injury and lyrium withdrawal in this chapter.

**Chapter Eleven**

 

Ian's eyes peeled open, and he had just long enough to be surprised that he was awake at all before the pain set in.  He groaned and wrenched his eyes closed again, for the lot of good that did him.  There was no part of his body that didn't ache.  If this was what surviving felt like, he wasn't so sure that he wanted to do it.  Surely, death would be less painful.

Bit by bit, as he lay on his back and did his best to draw in wheezing breaths that made his chest ache, the fight came back to him.  He remembered the Red Templars, the dragon, and most of all Corypheus-- the ancient magister who claimed to have walked through the Fade and entered the Black City.  Even after all Ian had been through, it was a bit hard to believe.  Corypheus was straight out of legend; part of a story the told to keep children humble.

How was he supposed to fight that?

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get moving before you freeze to death, idiot."

Ian's head lulled to the left as he tried to find the source of the unexpected voice.  There, a few paces away, the figure resolved into Ian's mirror image, but at the same time not.  Ian didn't know how he knew it, but he did.  Logan. The figure was Logan, but how?  Ian tried to blink the vision from his eyes, but there was his brother, a bit blurry around the edges and sitting on a piece of debris as if it were a throne.  "You're not real," Ian hissed, his voice like sandpaper from screaming.

"No," Logan agreed, almost cheerful.  "I'm not, but that doesn't change the fact that the longer you lie there, the more likely it is you'll slip off into that final great slumber, and you'll only have yourself to blame.  Don't your friends deserve to know what it is they're fighting?"

"They do," Ian agreed, as he wondered what it said about his sanity that he was talking with a hallucination that had admitted to being a hallucination.  "But I'm not strong enough.  It hurts to breathe, Logan."

"Bullshit," the vision bit out.  Logan pushed up to his feet and /strolled/ over to squat near Ian's head.  "Your legs aren't broken, and neither is your back.  Get up; or was father right about you?"

Ian scowled as he turned his gaze upwards to the sky overhead, visible through the hole he'd created as he fell.  He couldn't see the stars.  They were hidden from him by a heavy cloud that seemed to hang over Haven.  It felt as if that cloud was trying to crawl into Ian's lungs and strangle him.  "Don't say that," he coughed, the taste of blood making him wince.  "I can't bear it from you."

"Then prove the both of us wrong."

He would do that.  Ian squeezed his eyes closed once more and sucked in as deep of a breath as he could bear before he rolled onto his side.  Stars flashed before his eyes as a high pitched whine split the quiet that had settled over Haven.  It took a moment for Ian to register that the sound was coming from his own lips, and not some distant wounded animal.  He curled his lips inward, then bit down on them. The sound cut off but, the pain was reaching the peak of it's crescendo. and Ian was sure that he was soon to pass out once more.  He struggled his way upwards, nonetheless, and took a stumbling step as he found his feet.

"Good," Logan praised, barely audible over the roaring in Ian's ears.  Ian shot the hallucination a dirty look before forcing himself to take another step forward.  Logan let out a snort and pointed out a dark spot against the wall of the room.  "There's your tunnel.  Awfully convenient that you happened to fall right by it, isn't it?"

It didn't feel convenient, and Ian would have said as much if he wasn't having to concentrate so hard on staying upright.  His head was spinning, and his body felt weak, but every step was easier than the last.  All Ian had to do was keep moving.  Step after step, he stumbled through the darkness until he could see a light ahead of him.  For a moment, he dared to hope that he'd reached the end, but the green haze cast through the tunnel was quick to turn that hope into dread.

There was a rift ahead.

Ian was in no shape to battle demons.  He had no weapon, and could barely walk, let alone fight.  He glanced back over his shoulder, but Logan was nowhere to be seen.  There were two choices in front of Ian.  He could press forward, and try his luck with the demons--then likely die-- or he could double back to try and find another way out of Haven, and waste more time and energy that he didn't have-- then likely die.  Freezing to death as he slowly bled into one of his lungs sounded like a better death than being torn apart by demons, but Ian's feet led him forward.

Perhaps if he mustered all that he had, he could make a run for it.  The wraiths didn't even seem to notice him at first, which increased Ian's hopes.  He held his breath and eased his way into the chamber with steps as light as he could manage.  The air burned in his lungs as he fought for every careful movement that took him further into the room.  He was almost under the rift when it happened.  One wraith turned and caught sight of him.  It made no sound, but the others followed, almost moving as one.

"Use the anchor," Logan's voice hissed from nowhere and everywhere at once.  It was something Ian had done before.  Without killing the demons beforehand, he didn't have enough power to close the rifts entirely, but sometimes just the attempt, stunned the demons for a short while.  Ian thrust his hand into the air and willed the anchor to work.  The explosion of green that followed was not what he expected.  Instead of a beam arcing between the rift and the anchor, a second rift seemed to open.  Ian prepared himself for the worst, but the new tangle of green light seemed to expand, and reach out for the demons surrounding the room.  They shrieked as the light tore through them, then disintegrated just as if Ian had run them through with his sword.

"And now the rift," Logan's voice reminded him.  Ian lifted his hand again, and this time the familiar beam connected with the rift.  The frequency hummed and grew, until the rift reached it's shattering point and fell to pieces.  Ian fell to his knees at the same time, trembling as the power coursed through him.  Footsteps drew his eyes upwards.  Logan took form once more as he approached Ian.  The spectre of his brother stared down at the anchor.  "It was supposed to be me, you know," Logan mused, his tone distant.  "If everything had gone as Fate intended, I would be the Inquisitor, and we both would be alive."

"I'm not the Inquisitor,"  Ian rasped as he spat out blood and bile.  He knew that he should get back up, but pain and fatigue kept him hunched over as he knelt.

"You aren't yet," Logan observed in return.  "And, I suppose you won't be, if you keep lazing about."

"Won't be even if I move," Ian bit back.  He let out another low groan as he pushed himself to his feet.  It was just a little further.  Surely the others couldn't be too far ahead.  "My reputation is too sullied.  I'm still surprised they gave me the title of Herald so readily."

Logan laughed, full and hearty, at that as he trailed behind Ian like a lost puppy.  "That's your own fault.  I never asked you to ruin yourself over me.  Do you think I did the same for you?"

"No.  You were always the smart one."  Ian fell silent as he started through the tunnel once more.  He hoped there were no other surprises; he didn't know how much more he could take.  With one hand on the stone wall for balance, Ian concentrated one taking one step at a time.  There was no telling how far he had to go, but as long as he kept telling himself /just one more step/ he would keep moving.  He shivered as the temperature in the tunnel began to drop.  The air seemed fresher, somehow, and then there it was, the end.

"Shit," Ian cursed as he looked out upon the valley before him.  The ground was already covered in a thick blanket of white, and there was more snow still falling from the sky.  There were no tracks on the ground to follow.  Ian fell back against the wall.  He'd forced his ailing body to make it this far, what was he supposed to do now?  

Logan stepped around him, out into the snow and seemed to be looking for something in the distance.  He left no tracks in the snow, despite the fact he sank into it, shin deep.  A wolf's howl broke through the quiet of the night, and Logan smiled.  "That way."  He pointed off into the distance where Ian could barely make out a line of trees.

"You want me to walk towards a wolf pack," Ian asked, incredulous.

"Do you really have any other choice?"

Ian frowned and stepped down into the snow.  He /had/ other choices, but none of them were good ones.  "For a hallucination cooked up by my own head wound, you sure are an asshole."

"I always was," Logan smirked in return.  "And Maker but you're slow.  Pick up the pace."

"Pretty sure I'm bleeding into my lung," Ian drawled.  Walking through the snow was more difficult to walk through.  It pulled and dragged at his feet while still somehow being slick enough to make him slip and stumble.

Logan pinned him with a disgusted look, then disappeared.

Ian walked on.

Without the distraction his mind began to drift even as his body continued on forward.  Ian felt disconnected, as if he were watching someone else navigate his body through the snowy terrain.  Time passed, though he had no concept of how much, and a distance was covered, though he had no feeling of how far.  It could have gone on that way forever, but Ian stumbled, literally, over the remains of a fire pit.

Realization was horrible.  Ian's knees slammed to the ground and the force of it drew what little breath he had from his body.  He'd somehow risen past the pain as he walked, but now it was back and radiated from every point of his body.  Ian could swear that even his hair hurt.  He curled in on himself, but that just made it impossible to draw breath.  A choked sob tore from his throat, and then another.

"Get up!"  Ian could hear Logan yelling past the pain, but the words held no meaning.  "Get up!  We've come too far for this.  Now is not the time to be weak!"  Logan sounded angry, but Ian couldn't bring himself to care.  His body was on fire, yet still somehow freezing, and there was no relief to be had.

Ian stumbled to his feet once more.  His knees threatened to buckle, but somehow Ian found it within him to continue on.  He didn't know why he, of all people survived the Conclave and everything that had happened since.  There had to be some greater purpose for it, than dying alone in the snow.  The temperature continued to drop, the snow was above his knees, and Logan was little more than a blurry spot in his vision leading him on.  Ian wasn't sure if he was staggering towards his death, or his salvation.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the night, not sure who he was apologizing to.

Logan looked back over his shoulder, his eyes full of pity--or was that contempt? "I don't forgive you.  Just keep walking."

Heh.  "Asshole.”

 

_________

 

Dorian blew into his hands as he stared into the fire and stretched his feet just a little bit closer to the open flames.  With the moon high in the sky, barely visible through the storm clouds, their little refugee camp was mostly quiet.  He didn't know how far they were from the wreckage of Haven, but trudging through the snow, the trip had seemed to stretch on forever.

When they'd stumbled into camp, it had barely been a camp at all-- just a collection of small fire pits as their leaders argue if they were safe enough or if they should keep moving.  The news that Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric brought with them had changed things, and the camp had rapidly come together.  It was a bit ramshod, but it was impressive how much the villagers had managed to grab while under the threat of Red Templars and dragon fire.  There was enough shelter for everyone, even it if was a bit tighter than it had been in Haven.  Dorian himself, was sharing a tent with Felix, Alexius, and Alexius' guards, as no one else wanted to bunk with the Tevinters.

He'd always be grateful to the Commander for getting Alexius out instead of leaving him to die in the avalanche.

Something red and heavy settled around Dorian's shoulders, causing the mage to jump.  "Speak of the evil," he grumbled as the Commander sat just down the log from him.  The man seemed smaller, somehow, and that was when Dorian realized that the weight around his shoulders was the Commander's mantle.  The heat trapped in the fur and heavy fabric was blissful, and Dorian wasted no time in securing it around himself.  Dorian might have even moaned from the luxuriousness of it.

He must have, because the Commander made a choked sound that drew Dorian's attention.  He was staring at Dorian with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.  "Ah..sorry," the man stammered.  "It's just..you seemed cold, and there's a shortage of supplies so.."

It was such a change from the man Dorian met in the War room that it was startling.  "Oh, I'm not complaining," Dorian laughed.  "In fact, thank you, and not just for this.  You could have left Alexius there to die, but you didn't."

The other man sobered at that, and it was a shame.  He was rather attractive while flushed.  Alas, poor Dorian; doomed to be surrounded by attractive men.  So tragic.  

The Commander looked down, then back up into the flames and seemed to struggle with his words.  Dorian could tell from the furrow of his brow what he was thinking about.  He might not have left Alexius to die, but they both had left the Herald to his fate.  Hours later and there was still no sign of the man.  There were scouting parties along the way, and if Dorian's eavesdropping was anything to go by, an actual search party would be leaving soon. "It wasn't for me to decide his fate.  That will come whenever we pick an Inquisitor.  Until that day comes, he's to be protected, just like everyone else in Haven, for all the good that sentiment has done."

He might as well have been scowling for the disgust in his tone.  Dorian couldn't deny that protecting Haven had been a spectacular failure, so he chose to shift the conversation.  "I take it, that's not going well then?  Finding an Inquisitor, that is.  Can't find anyone suitable?"

"Can't find anyone willing," the Commander scoffed.  "We've all got our nominees, but thus far none have seemed amenable to filling the role."

"You don't want the role?"  Dorian asked.  

The question seemed to surprise the Commander, but he wasted no time in coming up with a denial.  "I'm not fit, and even if I was, I wouldn't want it."  He seemed sincere enough about it, as boggling as it was to Dorian.  The lust for power was admittedly one of Dorian's vices, as well intentioned as it was.  He wanted the power to make his homeland wake up and see what it had become.  He wanted the power to show them there was a better way.  He wanted the ability to  _ change  _ things.  That didn't make him a meglomaniac, did it?

"I suppose you would know," Dorian agreed.  "Who is your nominee then?"

"It  _ was _ the Herald."

"Did he say no?"  While Dorian didn't believe Ian would have wanted the title of Inquisitor any more than the other nominees, he also didn't believe that the man would have turned it down.  By the time he chose to sacrifice himself for Haven, he'd already been making most of the major decisions for the Inquisition, and thus bore the title in all but name.

"We never asked.  Some of us were..holding out for someone deemed more suitable."

Dorian didn't know who might be more suitable than someone who was already playing the role, but he didn't ask either, as another thought had already struck him.  "What is your name?"

"I wish we--What?"  The Commander's eyes flew to Dorian and he jumped as if he'd been caught in an ambush.

"Your name," Dorian repeated with a smile.  It was something about Ian's insistence that they use his name that drove him to ask.  They all could have died tonight, and if the Commander had, he'd have died without Dorian knowing the name of the man kind enough to lend his furs to a chilly Tevinter mage despite what seemed to be a distaste for mages in general.  That explanation was far too maudlin, however.  "If I'm to be wearing your regalia out in the open, I should at least know your name."

Dorian leered on his words hard, and was rewarded with the sight of the Commander falling to pieces.  His face was so red that blood flow to his extremities must have been an issue, and he ducked his head back down rather than meet Dorian's gaze.  You'd have thought that Dorian asked him to recite the Charter of the Imperium in it's original Ancient Tevene than merely for his name.

"Oh.  I'm Cullen, and you are Dorian," he managed to get out in a rush.

"Yes, I am," Dorian purred in return.

"I'm, uhm glad we cleared that up."  Cullen turned his wide eyed gaze anywhere but Dorian and rubbed at the back of his head.  Really.  How could this be the man that so effortlessly barked orders while they were in Haven?  He'd been quite the sight with his sword in his hands at the gate.  Dorian might have been busy fighting as well, but he still had eyes.  It was clear that whatever grace Cullen had on the battlefield, it didn't transfer to his personal life.

A call of "commander!" shattered the moment.  "Oh thank the Maker," Cullen hissed under his breath before standing.  "That would be my cue.  I'm joining the next search party for the Herald."

Dorian sat up straighter.  "Has there been word?"

Cullen shook his head.  "No, but I'm not ready to give up hope, and neither is Cassandra."

"I could come with you," Dorian offered as he started to stand and pull the mantle from his shoulders, but Cullen reached out with his hand raised then stopped just short of touching Dorian.

"Thank you for the offer, but you should rest.  You--you stayed with him until the end." Cullen bit his lip and pulled his hand back.  He looked as if he would have given anything to have been in Dorian's place. "Besides,  there's no point in all of us freezing, but if you still want to go with the next group, I won't stop you."

"At least take your mantle back.  It's getting colder by the hour."

Cullen flashed a smile as he stepped over the log to join the forming party.  "Keep it warm for me."  Dorian watched as he turned and walked away, shaking his head and cursing under his breath.  The Commander joined the others that were gathered, and after a moment, they headed south out of the camp.

Once they were out of sight, Dorian pondered going to join Alexius and Felix to try and get some sleep, but something in the back of his mind revolted against it.  Instead, he sat back on the log and pulled the mantle tighter around himself. His mind was too busy for rest.  The conversation with Cullen had been a nice distraction, but the truth was, Dorian didn't think he was handling this whole thing very well.  He'd barely known Ian, but the man had wormed past his defenses somehow and made himself /matter/ in such a short time.  Then, he threw himself on his metaphorical sword for them all and was gone.

There were a great many things that Dorian was equipped for; loss wasn't one of them.  He was greedy by nature, and didn't like it when his things were taken away.

Then there was the question of what to do next.  Dorian had pledged himself to the Inquisition, and with the Herald gone they would need more help than ever, but Dorian didn't feel like his heart was in it.  The part of him that wanted to curl up in the tent with Alexius and Felix was the part of him that wanted to give up and go home before he lost something else to this crusade.

Another yell startled Dorian.  The perimeter guard, rushed off in the direction the search party had gone, and then came the sound of raised voices.  Dorian stood and squinted into the low light.  Out of the snow and darkness, the search party returned.  Cullen and Cassandra were in the lead with a limp figure cradled between them.  "Wake the medics!" Cassandra ordered.  "And find out if there was a healer among the rebel mages."  

Two of the guards split off from the group while the rest continued on straight for Dorian. "Get him down by the fire.  We need to get this armor off of him and get him warm.  Quickly!"

Dorian pulled the mantle from his shoulders and put the fur down near the fire as they approached.  The limp figure  _ was _ Ian.  By all the spirits in the Fade, he'd survived, though barely, if the shape he was in was any indication.  The man's eyes were open, but his head lulled with every movement of those carrying him. " _ Fasta vass, _ you crazy bastard.  I don't know how you survived, but I'm glad you did," Dorian cursed as he helped Cullen lower the man down to the ground.

Ian rolled his head until he could blink up at Dorian, and flash him a dazed smile.  "C-cold," he stammered.  

"I'd say," Dorian agreed.  "That's what you get for mucking about in a snowstorm."  The man's lips were turning blue, for the Maker's sake, and that only served to highlight the splash of red painted over them and down his chin.  That couldn't mean anything good.  Cullen and Cassandra were working at getting Ian's armor off, so Dorian prepared to cast a warming spell.

"Start with his torso," Cullen instructed, when he saw what Dorian was about to do.  "He's already in shock, but there's no need to make it worse."

Dorian didn't know what one had to do with the other, but ceded the point to someone who was more used to dealing with cold weather injuries than he was.  He was about to kneel down to better direct the spell when someone stepped around him and nudged him out of the way.  "Was he like this when you found him?"  Mother Giselle asked as she knelt at Ian's shoulder and reached forward to take his pulse.

"He was moving," Cullen explained.  "He was conscious until just a moment ago."  He and Cassandra stepped away as the medics and healer moved in to take over.  In record time, they had Ian down to his smalls, and Dorian had to turn away.  Ian had barely had a scratch on him when they parted ways, but now his chest and stomach was a ruin of bruises.  The joint around his shoulder looked swollen and /wrong/; his wrist was just as bad.  He was still in once piece, but there was a rattling sound to his breaths that made Dorian's gut clench.

"C'mon Sparkler, they're going to need a place to put him once they're done here."  He hadn't even noticed Varric come up to his side, but there the dwarf was, drawing him away from the fire.  Dorian cast one last look to the knot of people then allowed himself to be led.

"What does she think I'll do?  Infect him with my Tevinter cooties?"

"I'd say blood magic was her bigger worry, but I don't think it's personal," Varric countered.  He was right of course.  The Reverend Mother was just one of the many villagers in Haven that edged away from Dorian or looked down upon him for being who he was.  On a normal day, Dorian had no problems holding his head high through it, but after the last day, and when it came to the Herald, the treatment chafed.  “Personal or no, I’m hardly going to murder someone who I’ve already put so much effort into keeping alive.”

They headed towards the medical tent.   Along the way, villagers began to poke their heads out of their tents, drawn to the commotion by the fire.  “What’s happened?” the blacksmith asked of Varric as they passed.  

Varric shook his head.  “Nothing to worry about.  Just an injury.”

Dorian approved of his bending of the truth.  The news that the Herald had returned from the dead would be all over the camp by morning, and if his treatment in Haven was anything to go by, he wouldn’t get a moment of peace.  They might not be welcome by Ian’s side at the moment, or at least, Dorian wasn’t, but they could still at least buy him some time to heal before the masses descended upon him.

Josephine met them at the medical tent. “Good, more hands.  We’re setting up a tent closer to the fire.”  The  _ we _ in question seemed to be the qunari mercenary and his soporati lieutenant.  They had a cot stretched out between them, already laden with a folded up tent.  The qunari flashed him a smirking grin as they passed that Dorian couldn’t help but scoff at.  He opened his mouth to comment, but Josephine dropped a pile of furs into his arms and drove the air from his lungs in a quiet “oof,” and flashed him a pointed look.

If only Dorian’s father could see him now, reduced to a pack animal and willingly so.

 

_______

 

Cullen frowned at Mother Giselle’s casual dismissal of Dorian.  While, he hadn’t enjoyed the mage getting a rise out of him, in Cullen’s eyes, Dorian had more than proved himself at this point, with his willingness to stay by the Herald’s side in Haven.  Still, this wasn’t the time or place to take issue.  Once things were calmer, he would give more attention to the matter.  After all, they couldn’t afford to alienate what allies they had, which was something Cullen himself was going to have to take more to heart.

He allowed himself to be pushed from the Herald’s side as the medics and their singular healer arrived to take over. Mages with an affinity for healing were rare.  Any mage could learn a healing spell, but few were talented enough to be considered healers.  In all of Cullen’s time as a templar he’d only known two.  Though he was terrified of her at the time, once the Hero of Ferelden had liberated the Circle tower, Wynne had dismissed Cullen’s ranting and healed him of his physical pains.  If only she’d been able to heal his mental scars as cleanly.

Anders was a more complicated issue.

The elven healer that joined them with the rebel mages was inexperienced, but tenacious.  She’d already spent the night tending to the wounded from Haven, but had still come when called to the Herald’s side, despite how exhausted she must have been.  She looked Ian’s injuries over with a trace of trepidation that hardened into determination.  “There’s a head wound,” she reported.  “His shoulder is dislocated, and his wrist is broken.  The bruising on his back is deep, but the worst of it is his chest.  There’s two broken ribs, three more cracked, and one of the ribs pierced his right lung.  It’s a small tear, but he is bleeding.”

“Very good,” Solas reassured the healer as he knelt down next to her.  He took the Herald’s injured hand in his own and frowned. Next to Cullen, Cassandra stiffened as Solas’ brow furrowed.  “The mark has changed as well, but it doesn’t appear to be contributing to his current condition.  It’s not hurting him anymore than it was before.”  He locked eyes with Cassandra, and something that Cullen couldn’t put words to passed between them.

Cullen raised a brow, but Cassandra shook of his concern and turned to address the healer.  “Tend to the ribs and lung for now; perhaps the head wound if you still have the energy..  The medics can set his shoulder and wrist.  They can be healed further once you have had time to rest.”

“But.. I can--” the healer began to protest.  It was clear that she wanted to do more, or at least attempt it, but Cassandra cut her off.

“Handle the wounds that are life threatening,” she insisted again.  “The rest can wait.  How likely is it that he will wake tonight?”

It was Solas that answered as he set Ian’s arm back down with more care than Cullen would have expected of him.  “Even with healing, it is unlikely.  Between the battle and the cold, his body is exhausted, but he has surprised us before.”  He too, moved out of the way and allowed the medics to do their job.  The healer cast her spells as the medics worked, and before long the Herald was more bandage than man, yet, he still had more color to him than when Cullen and Cassandra dragged him in from the snow.

Even as the Herald seemed to strengthen, Cullen felt himself began to wane.  A cold sweat broke out across his brow and a sudden cramp in his stomach stole his breath away.  Cullen bit his inner cheek and forced his lungs to work.  He should have expected it, really.  Sometimes it was as if the lyrium inside him was a conscious thing, waiting until Cullen was at his weakest to attack.  It had been a long day, with little chance to rest or take a meal, and now it was late into the night.

He turned to the fire as he concentrated on his breathing.  In, two, three.  Out, two, three.  The pain would pass, but he had to keep breathing through it.  His vision swam, despite the exercise, and the telltale pressure began to build at the base of his skull.  There would be no putting off the episode tonight.  Cullen could only hope that he could stay functional long enough to see the Herald settled and make it to the safety of his tent before the impending migraine hit.

“Hey, Commander,” the Bull called out  as he approached the group at the fire.  Krem followed behind with a litter between them.  Cullen clenched his fists and forced himself to focus.  “We’ve got a tent set up with a cot just on the other side of the fire there.  The Vint mage even heated up some bricks to pack around him.  Get him all nice and toasty.  We can take him over whenever you’re ready.”

“Good.”  Cullen’s voice wavered,so he coughed and tried again.  “Good,” he repeated and flashed the Bull what he hoped was a wry smile. The cramping was fading, but his head was steadily getting worse.  Still Cullen was hopeful that he would be able to see the Herald settled before he allowed his body to drive him away..   “With good timing as well.  I think he’s about ready to be moved.”

“Yes, ser,” one of the medics confirmed.  “Providing you get him warm, we’ve done what we can.  I can’t say that he’s in for a comfortable night, but his life isn’t in danger. The healer did well.

Where was the healer?  She was now absent from Ian’s side, as was Mother Giselle.  Cullen had been so distracted by his own pain that he hadn’t even noticed them take leave.  That was something he couldn’t afford.  They’d already been taken by surprise once that night, and look how that had turned out!  The weight of his failures bore down on Cullen almost as strong as the withdrawal.  He needed to do better; no excuses.

“Then let’s get moving,” Cullen ordered.  He stepped forward along with Bull and Krem, to help them get Ian on the litter.  While he was of a similar height to Cullen, Ian was by no means a small man, and with the recently set and healed injuries, they had to be careful as they moved him from the ground to the litter.  Cullen took up on the man’s side with Cassandra, while the Bull handled his shoulders, and Krem his legs.  Between the four of them, they were able to transfer Ian to the litter.

The sight of his mantle on the ground startled Cullen.  He’d known it was there, of course, but had somehow forgotten during the course of the evening.  The shock of red fur hadn’t even registered under Ian’s head.  Cullen bent down to pick up the rumpled bit of fur and fabric as Bull and Krem carried Ian away.  It was a bit damp from being trapped between Ian’s body and the ground, but no worse for the wear.  He shook it out and slipped it back over his shoulders.  If only it was as easy to ease his rattled nerves.

For a moment, he stood alone in front of the fire with his fingers curled into his hair as he desperately tried to draw breath around the renewed lump in his throat.  Compared to earlier, things were looking up, but Cullen felt as if he were falling to pieces.  He bit down on the inside of his cheek again, and this time didn’t let up until he tasted blood..   _ Maker. _  He had to keep it together.

Cullen’s eyes were drawn to the tent he was set to share with Cassandra.  Of all the things that survived the fall of Haven, of course his philter was one of them.  If there was ever a moment he needed the clarity that lyrium would bring, surely it was now?  He took a halting step forward before his mind rebelled against his body’s cravings.

No.

He spun on his heel and made his way towards the tent they’d set up for Ian.  Cassandra was off to the side, speaking in low tones to Leliana and Josephine, but Cullen was drawn to where Varric and Dorian were packing bricks around Ian’s body. “He’s..The medics said that he is past danger, I think, but concentrate on warming his torso first.  Just in case,” Cullen instructed them as he approached, unremembering that he’d already given Dorian that order before at the fire..  Again, Cullen was no medic, but he  _ was _ Ferelden, and knew the dangers of cold sickness.  His tone earned him another concerned look, but Cullen shook it off.

Ian was barely visible at all through the furs that covered him, but Dorian and Varric took the moment to rearrange his limbs, nonetheless, so the majority of the bricks were nestled around the man’s torso.  Varric ruffled Ian’s hair as he stepped away, and flashed Cullen a wry smile.  “Well, I’m beat.  After all this excitement, I think it’s time to turn in for the night.  Again,” he huffed.

“I second that motion,” Dorian agreed, as he hid a yawn behind his hand.  Despite his statement, he seemed reluctant to move from Ian’s bedside.  His gaze lingered on their injured friend, with a softness that surprised Cullen.  It hit him, that perhaps he was not the only one with a bit of admiration for Ian.  Cullen wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  Of course, he could be misreading the situation.  Dorian had the habit of flirting with everyone in his path, but that look of tenderness.. “Perhaps the Commander would like to show me to my tent?”

Cullen startled at that.  Dorian was giving him a considering look that was paired with a very confusing, coy smile.  Cullen wasn’t sure if he was being judged, or flirted with. He rubbed his fingers over his forehead, and wanted nothing more than to take the offer, but the protest still somehow left his lips.  “Someone should stay with the Herald, in case he wakes.”

“I will take the first watch as unlike all of you, I have had the chance to rest tonight,” Mother Giselle announced her presence once more.  Cullen turned to watch as she let herself into the tent.  Dorian opened his mouth to say something, but Varric coughed, and he settled on scowling in her direction once more.  Perhaps the animosity between them was something more than Cullen originally suspected.

“Thank you Reverend Mother, but surely one of us can handle this,” Leliana hedged while somehow remaining the picture of politeness.

“It has been a long day, and you all have served well,” Mother Giselle insisted as she moved a chair from the corner of the tent to closer to the cot.  “There is not much I can do, to aid our people in our current situation, but offering comfort to the wounded?  This is something I can do.  I will wake you should his condition change.”

“Thank you Mother,” Cullen acknowledged, then announced. “I suppose I’ll take up Dorian on his offer then.  After you.”  Dorian seemed thankful enough to be able to leave, and Cassandra gave Cullen a knowing look as he passed that had nothing to do with the company he was keeping and everything to do with the fact she could see right through him.

They walked in silence from the fire towards the outskirts of camp towards where the guarded tent for Alexius and his son had been pitched.  Cullen took care to keep each of his steps, as well as his breathing even.  The migraine ate away at his vision until only two small pinpoints were left, and no amount of blinking could clear the swirling spots away.

“Is there a lyrium shortage I should know about, Commander?”

Cullen stopped short and wavered.  The sudden motion sent a fresh wave of pain through his body, that had him throwing himself off the path to retch into the snow.  His ears burned with self-hatred and humiliation as his body betrayed him in the worst way.  He coughed and gagged his way through it, until his lungs and his throat burned and there was nothing left to expel.  Cullen wiped his mouth on his screen, and turned to find Dorian still there, watching him with a startled, but knowing expression.  “Forgive me,” Cullen rasped as he started to push himself back to his feet.

That seemed to spur Dorian into motion.  He stepped forward and wrapped a hand around Cullen’s elbow.  “No, forgive me.  Here.”  Once Cullen was steady, he offered Cullen a flask from seemingly nowhere.  “I don’t have much in the way of tact, but perhaps I should have used some this time.”

Cullen took the flask, and winced as he took a swig of the alcohol inside.  It did little to settle his stomach, but at least it washed the taste of stomach acid out of his mouth.  “How did you know?”

“The misuse of lyrium isn’t unheard of in Tevinter.  I’ve seen the withdrawal once before, though never in a templar, as ours don’t take it.”  Cullen handed the man his flask back as he explained, and Dorian slipped it into a hidden compartment in one of the ‘books’ on his belt.  “From what I understand, things don’t end well for those who stop using it, so I have to admit I’m a bit curious as to why--”

“It’s personal,” Cullen bit out, perhaps a bit harsher than intended, as Dorian’s jaw clicked shut.  “I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately.  “I’m not.. I can’t, not right now.”

Dorian’s jaw was tight as he drew away from Cullen.  Shit.  Just another failure to add for Cullen’s tally for the day.  “No, no.  I overstepped,” Dorian was quick to correct in a deceptively light tone.  “I’ll leave you be. You obviously need your rest; do you need aid back to  _ your _ tent?”

Cullen shook his head, too ashamed to speak.   _ Maker, _ would this night ever end?

“Goodnight then Commander.  I can find my own way from here.”  Dorian didn’t wait for Cullen to echo the sentiment.  He turned on his heel, and left Cullen standing alone on the path.

“Goodnight,” Cullen muttered under his breath anyway, and cast his eyes towards the heavens, where the light of dawn was just beginning to glow over the mountains.  Two steps forward and one step back.  He sighed, then brought his gaze back down to the path in front of him to stumble towards his tent, and the vial inside it that would solve all his problems if he would only take it.

_ No. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm sorry that this chapter took so long to get posted. There was some drama with a missing flash drive, and a hurt hand, along with Civil War destroying my everything. It's unfortunate, but I'm a procrastinator at heart.
> 
> Secondly! Yay the fic has just crossed the 50k/100 page mark, so it's officially the biggest project I've had in a few years. Here's hoping that romance part gets somewhere before the next 50k, lol.
> 
> Third is, I'm going with a few things in this fic that might not be super widely accepted. A) True Healers are rare. B) Lyrium is addictive no matter who uses it. There's tons of great meta on lyrium usage on tumblr, so I'm not going to get super into it here, but at least for the fic's purposes, the above is true.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @ sleepersith. Feel free to come by and say hello!
> 
> Next chapter: 30 Days in the Wilderness Part One.


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